Harry's Winter
by resauthor
Summary: An old foe from Harry's past involves Chris and Rita in his plot for revenge. Romance. Crime. Action. [Chris remained in the shadows; his eyes trained on the side door of the garage as it opened just wide enough to allow a slender figure to slip inside. He blinked twice, not quite sure whether to believe what he was seeing. "Sam." A split second later she was in his arms.]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes**: Originally written in the year 2000, Harry's Winter has the dubious distinction of being at the very end of the Classic Moments timeline. Written two years after Wolf, I believe it was also the last story written for the archive (I have a terrible memory). My profile page now shows timeline placement for most of the stories. This story is split into two chapters because of length. I was very chatty back then. Much like Wolf, this was an attempt at a story that felt more episodic.

Mature Content Warning: If this makes you uncomfortable in any way, please be advised that there are a couple scenes with mild Adult Content that you might want to skip. I try to keep it tasteful. I can assure you that it will always involve a couple who are adults, currently engaged to be married, and very much in love.

**Harry's Winter**

(Chapter 1)

By: resauthor

**Chris Lorenzo was weaving his way** through Monday morning traffic when the cell phone in his left breast pocket started to ring. Not an unusual occurrence. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he flipped open the phone and offered his customary greeting, expecting a response from dispatch or, better yet, the sound of his partner's voice.

"Christopher? Are you still there?"

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the thermostat was not yet registering in the triple digits. If it weren't for the fact that he had woken up alone in his own bed, it would have been a perfect morning - until now. Anna was supposed to be in England, or was it France? - working on a film or visiting friends with a claim to minor royalty. What possible disaster could prompt a call to her son, the lowly homicide detective?

"Of course, Mother, but I'm on my way to a crime scene. Can you make this quick?"

"Honestly, Christopher, I didn't raise you to be so rude."

"You barely raised me at all," he responded, without any real malice. He had come to terms with their limited relationship long ago, but that didn't mean he was willing to sugarcoat the truth. "If we're going to blame someone, how about one of the housekeepers or maybe even Grandma Rose?"

"Pass the phone to Rita."

Chris had to laugh. Righteous indignation was a new twist. "She isn't with me right now. I'm meeting her at the scene."

"Has something happened between you two?"

Was that actual concern he was hearing? "Why do you ask?"

"We're all adults, Christopher," she hedged. "I assumed you and Rita would be living together by now."

"Mother, I'm shocked!" It was hard to keep the laughter out of his voice.

"She hasn't left you, has she?"

"No, she hasn't left me. Rita volunteers two nights a week at the Outreach Center, an organization that tries to keep runaways off the streets. She doesn't leave there until midnight, so she often goes home to her own apartment afterward. We're still together, still engaged."

Anna Alexis, legendary movie star, sighed in relief. "Tell her I said to write a check. It's much easier."

"I'll pass along the suggestion. Why are you calling?"

"We need to talk."

"About?"

"The wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"Yours, of course. After spending the last three days working on my portion of the guest list, I suddenly realized that you haven't given me a date yet. You do have a date by now, don't you? Country Clubs and banquet halls book at least six months in advance, sometimes a year. A wedding of this size takes strategic planning, Chris, and strategic planning happens to be a specialty of mine."

His car swerved, the right front tire spinning in the gravel along the shoulder of the road. Cursing silently, he guided the Charger back to the center of the lane, somehow managing to keep hold of his cell phone in the process. "I thought you were working on a movie right now."

"Primary filming finished on Friday," Anna explained. "I was planning to stay in Paris a few weeks, but I could fly to Palm Beach if you and Rita need a hand."

"Wedding plans are on the back burner at the moment."

"Exactly what I was afraid of. Don't put this off, Christopher." Her voice dropped lower as if she were afraid of being overheard. "Get it done before she ends up pregnant."

"Mother!"

"Don't 'Mother' me, young man. Abstinence is the only sure-fire form of birth control and based on the way you were looking at your lovely fiancée the last time I was in Palm Beach, I doubt you're too familiar with the concept."

Chris took a deep breath and double-checked his notebook for the address dispatch had given him. "I am not going to discuss my sex life with you, especially at eight in the morning," he informed Anna. Spotting a patrol car in the garage area of a small, two-story apartment building, he pulled over to the curb and parked behind a dark blue sedan. "Duty calls, Mother. We'll have to continue this another time."

"I'll try and phone you later tonight. I should probably be talking to Rita about this anyway."

"I'm not sure what time we'll be home."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll find you."

That sounded ominous. "Good-bye, Mother," he muttered, disconnecting the call before she could say any more. His mother was working on a guest list? Who was she planning to invite? Exiting the car just as Rita was parking a half block further up the street, he wondered what his partner's reaction would be to his mother's comments.

"Hey there."

Chris didn't answer right away, enjoying the sight of her purposeful stride in his direction. Her bright-green skirt and matching jacket were completely professional, yet it was all he could do to stop staring at her legs. Raising his chin, he focused his attention higher, but that turned out to be just as distracting. Dark, shoulder-length hair swayed as she walked, framing a face so lovely, even after six years of working side by side, he often found himself speechless. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he tried to act casual. "Hey, yourself," he muttered as she reached his side.

Rita stared him straight in the eye for a moment, having caught the more personal tone in his voice. "Is everything okay?"

As okay as everything can be in a world where I'm sleeping alone at night and my mother is calling from Europe about guest lists, he wanted to shout, but why ruin a perfectly good morning with complaints when all he really wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her. "Everything is fine," he said, managing a genuine smile as they headed up the walkway toward a faded pink apartment building. The grass bordering the cracked concrete strip was overgrown and lifeless. This particular working-class section at the very edge of Palm Beach was small, inhabited mostly by those in service to the mansions the city was so famous for.

Chris nudged Rita's shoulder as they walked, leaning closer to whisper, "Did I mention that I missed you last night?"

"No, you didn't."

Her return smile was all the encouragement his body needed to quicken the blood racing through his veins. Those green eyes were lethal weapons when it came to his self-control. Her next comment was work-related, forcing him to put aside a few X-rated thoughts. Well, maybe not X-rated, but definitely R, with lots of PG-13 thrown in for good measure. He started to pull his hands from his pockets, then changed his mind. Oh hell, who was he trying to kid?

"I noticed we aren't the first to arrive," she was saying, referring to the dark blue sedan. "Any idea what's up?"

"Not a clue." Chris glanced over their surroundings. A uniformed officer stood at the bottom of an outside stairway. He appeared to be taking a statement from a distraught blonde in a strategically-challenged red tube-top and tiny white shorts. The officer glanced up as they drew near and pointed toward the upper floor. Rita moved closer to the potential witness, leaving Chris to make his way upstairs on his own. He knew she would identify the blonde's role and make sure the woman was being handled properly before joining him to check out the crime scene.

...

**Palm Beach Homicide Detective Dale Murphy** had entered unit 2D less than five minutes prior to the arrival of Lance and Lorenzo. Crossing the living room of the sparsely furnished, one-bedroom apartment, he ignored the piles of unwashed clothing and empty pizza boxes that littered the floor and joined the first officer on the scene in the bedroom. The patrolman, young and eager to please, had looked up from making notes in his logbook to offer a cheerful, "Good morning."

Murphy, a thirty-year veteran, responded to the blond-haired, blue-eyed rookie officer with a disinterested grunt, slipping his hands into latex gloves before turning his attention to the bed. Their victim, a white male dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt, was lying face down on the blood-soaked bedding. Nicotine-deprived and still wondering what insanity had prompted him to ever try and give up smoking in the first place, Murphy was not in the best of moods. "What do you know?" he demanded.

"Looks like he bled out from a single gunshot wound to the back of the head."

A bushy gray eyebrow rose up in disdain. "Your grasp of the obvious is a true testament to modern training methods. Who found him?"

"One of the uh…" A little less sure of himself, the officer consulted his notebook. "One of the downstairs neighbors knocked on his door about seven this morning. She needed to leave for work but his motorcycle was blocking her parking space and she couldn't back up. The front door was ajar. She called out, but there was no response. Upon entering the apartment, she found the victim in the bedroom.

"Does our friend here have a name?"

"According to the neighbor, he went by John Smith."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Murphy bent over the body and studied the intricate tattoo on the victim's left forearm. The wolf and snake seemed familiar, but he couldn't place the design. Sounds from the living room intruded on his concentration. He glanced up and scowled. "What the hell are you doing here, Lorenzo?"

"You tell me," the sharply-dressed homicide detective responded without missing a beat. "Dispatch got a call - said our presence was requested at the crime scene."

Dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It sure as hell didn't come from me. I wouldn't expect a pretty boy like you to get your hands dirty with scum like this."

"Did it ever occur to you that we're both on the same side, Murphy?" Chris Lorenzo smiled as he entered the small bedroom. His mint-green jacket, black polo shirt, and dark slacks were a startling contrast to Murphy's own mud-brown suit and wrinkled white dress shirt. Unfazed by the younger man's smile, he looked past Lorenzo, knowing that wherever Lorenzo was…

Detective Rita Lance entered the room. "Hey, Murph, what are you doing here?"

He fought a sudden urge to return the petite brunette's smile. Professional as she now appeared, he preferred to remember her as the brash, smart-mouthed rookie he had been forced to work with nearly a decade earlier.

"I was just asking your partner the same thing, Lance." He nodded towards the bed. "This guy isn't your standard high-profile victim. Curtis and I caught this case; you two can go home and play house."

Chris' smile widened. "We aren't here to step on your toes."

"So you say. Now prove it and get out of my way. I want to get a good look at this guy before the ME arrives."

The uniformed officer remained silent in the far corner of the room but his eyes flickered back and forth between the detectives.

"You sure you didn't call us?" Chris asked.

"Haven't I made myself clear yet?" Murphy turned his attention back to the body on the bed with what he hoped was a clear sign of dismissal.

"That tattoo looks familiar."

"Lance." He threw an annoyed glance over his left shoulder.

"Seriously, Dale. I think I've seen it before."

The comment Murphy was about to make was cut short by the arrival of the crime scene unit and his partner, Jack Curtis, who could be heard issuing orders in the outer room. It was just as well. He wasn't in the mood for small talk. Catching Rita Lance's eye, he pointed towards the bedroom door. "We have too many people on the scene already, Lance. Take your partner and scram. Go bother the rich and famous."

"I'll get back to you on that tattoo," she promised.

"I'll put everything on hold until I hear from you," he sarcastically assured the retreating detective. Checking the floor around the bed, he gave into temptation and grinned, but a quick, habitual check of his shirt pocket wiped the smile from his face. "Dammit." Straightening up to greet the medical examiner, Murphy didn't waste words, "Got any gum?"

**Chris walked out** of the two-story apartment building without a backward glance, preferring to wait outside while Rita spent a few minutes talking to Jack Curtis. Inhaling deeply, he glanced around the quiet neighborhood. Mornings that started out with crazy or odd events often signaled the beginning of a day filled with more of the same. If today turned out to be such a day, that was okay, he was prepared. Or at least he would be after he found some coffee. Leaving the loft an hour earlier than usual had meant sacrificing that all-important first cup of the day. A prickling of awareness prompted a glance over his left shoulder.

"Curtis was even less help than Murphy if that's possible," Rita said, slipping her sunglasses into place as she approached.

Jack Curtis was younger than Murphy, in his early forties. He had a fairly good reputation in the department, but based on the few cases they had worked together, Chris knew the man had a huge chip on his shoulder. He offered a sympathetic smile before turning back to the street. "Jack needs to learn how to relax. Chances are, we're dealing with a simple mistake by dispatch."

His attention was drawn to a small group of onlookers gathering at the edges of the police barrier. One young woman, in particular, seemed to be staring directly at him, but as soon as he met her gaze, she turned away and disappeared into an apartment building on the opposite side of the street.

"Were you able to get a hold of Cap?"

Chris shook his head as he followed Rita to her car. Once there, he paused to survey the scene. In the five to ten minutes they had been inside, the coroner's van had arrived, along with a half dozen other official vehicles. "He wasn't in his office," he explained, "and I didn't bother to leave a message. We're less than fifteen minutes from the shop. I figure we can follow this up when we get there."

Rita opened the driver's side door and offered a theory, "Maybe this shooting is linked to one of our open cases."

"Maybe." Chris watched her slip behind the wheel, making no effort to hide his appreciation of the view. Clearing his throat, it seemed appropriate to add, "But as Murphy so graciously pointed out, he and Curtis caught the call. I doubt they need our help.

"Murphy wouldn't ask for it even if they did."

"Speaking of your friend Murphy, his mood seemed even lousier than usual." Chris stepped back as she lowered her window and pulled the door closed. "Luckily, I've never had to work one-on-one with him. How did you manage?"

"He isn't so bad," Rita insisted with a chuckle. "I was six months out of the academy when we worked together on a sting operation for vice. He was very patient."

"Murphy? Patient?" Chris gave her his full attention. "You really have a soft spot for this guy, don't you?" He reached for a stray lock of her hair, intending to brush it back from her face, but checked himself as the department photographer rushed past the car.

"Don't tell me you're jealous of Dale Murphy?"

"You know me," he murmured. "I'm jealous of everyone and everything that keeps you out of my arms."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He dug down deep and found another smile for her. "Absolutely. I'll meet you back at the station."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you, too."

Okay, so he wasn't above being jealous of homeless runaways and grizzly old detectives. So, sue him. In some weird way, it was all worth it if four little words could make him feel so damn good. "I knew that," he sassed back, slapping the hood of her car as he headed back to his Charger.

….

**"I'll bet you were wondering** when I'd turn up again."

The gruff male voice was familiar, but the morning had been a busy one, and Captain Harry Lipschitz of the Palm Beach PD was too impatient to play guessing games with mysterious callers. "Who is this?"

"I'm crushed, Harry. Living in the high rent district must have affected your memory. Hell, not a day goes by that I don't think of my old friend the police captain at least once, and here you've gone and forgotten all about me."

The blood slowly drained from Harry's face. More than five years had passed since he had last spoken to - or laid eyes upon - Joseph Greene, but the memory of their last encounter would never dim. "Where are you calling from?" he demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Don't play your childish word games with me," Harry warned. "Last I heard, the government was relocating you to parts unknown. Couldn't they find a rock large enough?"

"Don't you watch the evening news, Harry? The wheels of justice are creaky at best, and the courts are tragically overloaded. Some cases just fall through the cracks."

"No way in hell!"

"You have been out of touch, old friend. Victor Cartwright died of a heart attack over a month ago, and since his kid with the Harvard degree has turned the family salvage business legit, the Feds have lost interest. No Victor, no case."

"There sure as hell is a case, Greene, and you're it. The only reason you aren't in a jail cell right now is that they needed your testimony to convict Cartwright. I accepted that at the time, but if circumstances have changed… "

"I don't think so, Harry. I am now enjoying life as a free man. It's all legal."

"If I had my way, you'd be serving life with no chance of parole." Harry took a deep breath and stared at the small black and white photo of Fran on his desk. "What do you want from me, Greene?"

"Why would I want anything from you? This is just a courtesy call to let you know I'm doing okay. I thought you might be worried. And who knows, maybe we'll run into each other on one of Palm Beach's famous golf courses. You do play, don't you, Harry?"

"No, I don't." Harry struggled to keep a lid on his temper. Head games had always been a favorite sport of Joey's, and he knew better than to play right into the man's hands. "There's nothing for you here in Florida," he said, somewhat calmly, ignoring the churning acid in his stomach.

"You're in Florida." The words were flat now, emotionless. "And if Palm Beach is good enough for you and the misses, then I figure it's worth checking out. Did I ever tell you about the time I met your wife, Harry?"

The Captain's eyes narrowed. His hand tightened around the receiver.

"I happened to be at the hospital one night - that hospital around the corner from your old precinct. I am sure it was a night we both remember well. She is so small, your wife. She introduced herself, told me her name was Fran. Am I right? A very compassionate woman, your Fran. I told her I was waiting to hear about a friend's emergency surgery. She offered me the chair next to hers, said she was there waiting for news about two young detectives also undergoing surgery. There were tears in her eyes. I was tempted to put an arm around her."

"You son of a bitch!" Harry was on his feet, angrier than he could ever remember being in his life. "If I find out that you even breathed the same air as she did..." His free hand balled up into a tight fist. "Stay the hell away from my wife," he warned through gritted teeth.

"You misunderstand me, as usual. I am nothing more than a retired accountant looking for a nice sunny place to spend my remaining years."

Accountant? Is that what they were now calling two-bit crooks who got their kicks watching other people suffer? Harry was done playing word games. He slammed the receiver down then picked it up again and dialed his home number. There was no answer. Frannie had mentioned some kind of brunch with friends today. He frantically searched his memory. Marie's house. Frannie and her friends were meeting at Marie's house.

….

**Rita was just getting settled** at her desk when the Captain's raised voice drew her attention. There was no mistaking the anger in his tone.

Chris walked up from behind and set a mug of hot tea in front of her. "Any idea who the Captain is talking to?" he asked.

The words were spoken so close to her left ear, warm, coffee-scented breath fanned her cheek. A covert sideways glance allowed her to meet his gaze. Unconsciously biting her lower lip, she tried to focus on the question. "None at all, but he sounds pretty hot."

Their attention was drawn back to the private office. Harry Lipschitz, their mild-mannered, graying-at-the-temples, bark-is-worse-than-his-bite boss could be seen slamming the phone down.

"Why don't you pop in there and explain what happened this morning," she suggested.

"No way." Chris was shaking his head as he returned to his desk and dropped down into his seat. "I think I'll stay right here, out of the line of fire, if you don't mind."

"Chicken," Rita teased, but before she could say more, the Captain had slammed his phone down a second time and was heading out of his office. She watched him expectantly, assuming he would stop at their desks and clue them in to what was going on, but surprisingly, he took off in the opposite direction, leaving the department without a word to anyone. She reached for the phone and dialed the switchboard. "Nancy? Hi, this is Rita. Captain Lipschitz just left in a big rush. Did he happen to leave word on where he was going?"

"Checking up on the boss, Sam? How devious."

Rita tried throwing her fiancé an annoyed glance, but as usual, it had no effect. She hung up the phone. "Nancy is as much in the dark as we are, but Cap did ask her to get in touch with him immediately if Fran calls."

"Sounds like a personal matter, which means it is…"

"None of our business," Rita finished for him. Her common sense and logic agreed, her intuition did not.

"He would have said something if the problem was work-related." Chris' words were meant to reassure, but she wasn't fooled. He was just as worried as she was.

"Yeah, you're right." Rita stared at the Captain's empty office for a few seconds longer. "There isn't anything we can do until he gets back anyway. I guess we should try to finish up these reports. If he needed help, he would have asked for it."

Chris was quick to agree, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter in his chair and riffled through the scattered papers on his desk. "Any idea what happened to the lab results for the Lindstrom case?"

"I left them on your desk late last week."

"I haven't been able to find them. Maybe you forgot."

"I didn't forget." Rita rose from her chair and walked over to stand behind Chris. She found the missing report just where she had left it - laying neatly atop similar reports in the tray marked IN. "How would you ever find anything on this desk without me?" The words were out before she could stop them, making her responsible for the sudden change in his expression.

A possessive arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer before she could escape.

"Behave yourself, Sam," she admonished halfheartedly. Firm fingers pressed into her hip bones.

"You smell good," was the only response.

"So do you," she answered quietly. "Strangely enough, we both appear to be using the same bath oil. I wonder how that happened." Satisfied with the smile that returned to his face, she slipped out of his hold and back to her own desk. There was enough going on this morning already, they didn't need to complicate the situation with worries about the future.

….

**Impatient fingers drummed** an uneasy rhythm on the vinyl-covered steering wheel. The red light was taking forever to change. Harry lifted his foot from the brake pedal, contemplating a quick dash through the empty intersection. A glance to the right, then the left, assured him he could cross safely, but he stayed where he was until the light turned green again.

That was his problem in a nutshell. His need to uphold the law was so ingrained, it put him at a disadvantage when dealing with men to whom rules and laws meant nothing. Joey Greene was just such a man.

Harry tried to clear his thoughts, to push the memories back into the dark corner of his mind where they had been hiding for the past five years, but it was no use. Joey's phone call had reopened old wounds.

He needed to see Fran. She was the only one who knew the truth. Frannie understood.

Relief swept through him the minute he spotted her standing on the brick walkway in front of the Ferguson home. Fran was greeting friends and laughing, but her smile faded the instant she noticed him. She wasted no time excusing herself, ignoring the curious stares from her friends as she joined him in the car.

"Where are we going?" she asked, breaking the silence as they drove away.

"Home. Something happened at the office this morning. We need to talk."

Frannie's worried glance was full of questions, but she folded her hands in her lap and waited with uncharacteristic patience. Was it any wonder he loved this woman beyond all measure?

Reaching over, he took one of her hands in his and gave it a quick squeeze. She gifted him with a smile, but as he prepared to revisit one of the darkest periods of his life, he just didn't have the heart to return it

….

**Chris was rummaging** through his top desk drawer, searching for a pen that worked, when the phone on his desk started ringing. Frustrated, he shoved the overstuffed drawer closed and answered the call with an annoyed, "Homicide, Sergeant Lorenzo speaking."

"Chris," a friendly voice greeted. "John Grady here."

Chris stopped what he was doing and settled back into his chair, surprised to hear John's voice. The Captain's godson lived in New York with his wife and baby son. "Hey, man, how's the family?"

"Good. You and Rita doing okay?"

"Sure, sure. If you're looking for Cap, he isn't in right now."

"I know. The switchboard told me, which is why I had them put me through to you. This can't wait."

"What's up?"

"I have some news for Harry, and I was hoping you could make sure that he gets it."

"No problem."

"Tell him Victor died of a heart attack."

Chris wrote the message down on a pad of paper, quickly adding, "My condolences. Victor who?"

"Victor Cartwright. He was the last big arrest Harry oversaw before leaving New York, so don't waste any sympathy on the dearly departed."

"What did Cap pop him for?"

"Interstate transportation of stolen goods and tax evasion. He owned a salvage business, but that was a cover for a network of fence shops operating up and down the New England coast. He was known for selling a hot shipment of toasters one day and a truckload of small arms the next."

What John wasn't saying was getting much more interesting than the few facts he was imparting. "Must have been a smooth operator," Chris offered. "How many years did he pull?"

"None. Federal indictments were handed down and he was still awaiting trial while his high-priced attorneys trumped-up one delay after another.

"Sounds like he saved the taxpayers a lot of money. I'll be glad to pass the news on to Cap, but what's the rush if Victor is dead?"

"The situation is complicated by an associate who agreed to testify and was placed into protective custody." There was a heavy pause. "Harry was convinced that the witness, Joey G., worked for Victor as an enforcer, but his detectives couldn't come up with enough solid evidence."

"We can assume that Joey G. is back on the streets now?"

"He was released from protective custody not long after Victor died. All of this took place over a month ago, but I didn't find out until this morning. Word on the street is that somebody with real deep pockets has been asking questions about Harry. I have no idea if the inquiries are related to the Cartwright case, but I thought Harry should be informed." After another long pause, John added, "I was working a different precinct at the time so I only know what I've been told by others, but they say Harry was really close to losing it back then, Chris. Something about Joey set him off from the beginning, and it became personal, real personal, to both of them."

Cap's earlier behavior flashed through Chris' mind, but he hesitated to say anything to John just yet. "I'll be sure and give Cap the message, but do me a favor and let me know if you come across any more information about this Joey character." A movement across the room got his attention. Rita was entering the department, deep in conversation with a uniformed officer. The officer handed her something too small for Chris to identify, then turned and disappeared back through the swinging doors.

"His full name is Joseph Greene," John was saying. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Keep an eye on him for me, Chris."

"Will do," Chris assured him. After a brief good-bye, he hung up the phone.

"Any word from Cap?" Rita asked as she neared their desks and handed him a small white business card.

Chris shook his head with a frown. "What's this?"

"Somebody left that for us at the front desk."

The card had originally been blank, but both his name and Rita's were hand-printed on the front. He flipped it over and read a series of twelve numbers on the back. "Did our mystery person leave a name?"

"It was a man, late fifties or early sixties, and of course not." Rita sat down and shot him an amused glance. "No guesses?"

"Not a one," he admitted tapping the card on the desktop as he studied his partner. "But you have to admit," he added, "this fits right in with the type of day we've been having." He filled Rita in on his conversation with John Grady.

She listened intently until he was through. "We need to talk to Cap."

"I agree." He had been about to suggest the same thing himself. Rita's gaze slid past him, registering surprise. Curious, he glanced back over his left shoulder toward the swinging doors.

Something had finally gone right that morning. "Cotton Dunn, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to track you down since last week."

"Chris! Good buddy..." The energetic con man approached wearing a bright, multi-colored, Hawaiian-print shirt, meticulously pressed khakis, and a nervous, apologetic smile. "I've got that exhaust manifold I promised you. Honest, I do."

"I paid you for the damn thing two weeks ago, Cotton." Chris tried to act tough, shrugging off the good-natured pat on the back from his annoying friend, but it was no use.

"You know how hard it is to find parts for that junk heap of yours."

"You sold me that heap!" Rita and Cotton were staring at him with raised eyebrows. "And don't call it a heap," he muttered. "That car is a classic."

"My point exactly," Cotton returned smoothly. "And taking care of a classic requires time and money."

Chris stood up, hands on his hips, making sure the shield at his waist was clearly visible, as he attempted to set the little man straight on one point in particular. "I am not giving you any more money, Cotton. I paid for a manifold and I expect a manifold to be delivered here today."

"Don't get your shorts in a knot. I'll bring it to you this afternoon, tomorrow at the latest. But that's not why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" Rita interrupted in an obvious effort to take Chris' mind off of his troublesome vehicle.

The smile disappeared from Cotton's face, and he lowered his voice. "You guys know I'm still working at Donnie's club, right?"

"Yes," the detectives answered in unison.

"On Saturday, a couple of guys showed up around midnight looking for the boss. When I told them he was out of town, they started asking me questions about how well I know the local cops. Then they asked me about the two of you."

"You know these guys?" Chris asked. The missing manifold was already forgotten as he perched himself on the edge of his desk.

Cotton glanced around the department before ducking his head and pressing his right index finger against the side of his nose. His eyes widened with impatience as he waited for some sign of understanding. "I don't know them," he explained nervously, "but I know the type."

"Spit it out, Cotton. Who were they?" Chris stood up and moved closer, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I told you, Chris, these guys weren't from around here, and they sure as heck didn't look eager to introduce themselves." Cotton squirmed, distinctly uncomfortable as Rita crowded him from the other side. "The first thing I did was put in a call to Donnie, but he's traveling in Europe and I haven't heard back from him yet."

"Any idea what type of information they were after?" Rita asked.

"I'm no fool. I played dumb, told them I stayed clear of the law and had never heard of either one of you."

Rita continued to eye him suspiciously. "If they were in the club Saturday night, why are we just hearing about it now?"

"My instructions were to forget I ever saw them, and believe me, I tried to do just that." Shuffling his feet, Cotton jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants and stared at a far wall as he mumbled, "I've known you guys too long for my own good."

"We appreciate the concern," Chris assured him. Maintaining a calm exterior, he locked eyes with his partner and gave her a slight nod.

"We certainly do," Rita added, returning to her seat.

"Cotton," Chris put an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and led him towards the exit. "Why don't you go pick up the manifold you promised me, the one I already paid for, and while you're at it, ask around a little and see what you can find out about your mysterious visitors. We'll do some checking on this end, and by the time you get back here with my manifold, we'll be ready to compare notes."

"You want me to ask questions about them?"

"Yes, my silver-tongued friend," Chris responded with an encouraging grin. "If there is any information to be found on these two, I am confident that you are one of the few people on earth capable of finding it."

Cotton beamed. "I'll do my best," he promised. With one hand on the swinging doors, eyes alight with curiosity, he shifted his gaze from Chris to Rita. "Do you two always wear the same perfume?"

"My manifold, Cotton," Chris growled.

"Not very manly," he muttered, disappearing through the swinging doors.

"What was that all about?" Rita asked as Chris dropped back into his chair.

"My masculinity isn't threatened by a few drops of herbal bath oil."

"You know what I mean." Her smile was teasing but there was an underlying seriousness in her tone. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her right ear, a nervous gesture that was thoroughly feminine.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he admitted, taking a deep breath and forcing his thoughts back to Cotton. Leaning back in his chair, he shrugged his shoulders. "I just don't know what to make of it yet."

"We can add it to the agenda for our conversation with Cap."

"Good idea." Chris set aside his unfinished paperwork and picked up his keys. Cotton's unexpected visit had merely delayed the inevitable. They needed to talk to Cap. "Let's go."

...

**"We should have called first."** Rita stepped out of the car and shielded her eyes from the sun. The Lipschitz home was small and neatly kept, fitting in perfectly with the middle-class homes that surrounded it.

"This is the best way," Chris repeated for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Once the Captain hears what we have to say, I think he'll forgive the interruption." Joining his partner on the sidewalk, he gave her a little push up the brick walkway. "Besides, what's the worst he can do?"

Rita rolled her eyes at him as she pressed the doorbell. The front door was jerked inward with a surprising amount of force. "Cap?"

"What are you two doing here?" Tie loosened, hair disheveled, their boss did not look happy to see them.

Rita struggled to hide her concern. "You left the precinct so suddenly," she began.

"Something came up," Harry interrupted coolly. "Tell Donovan to reschedule our eleven o'clock."

"Cap," Chris cut in, drawing the impatient glare onto himself.

"What is it, Lorenzo?"

"We need to talk."

"I'm taking a personal day; we'll talk later."

Chris braced a hand on the front door before the Captain could swing it closed. "This can't wait. It's serious."

"How serious?"

The Captain they knew and loved was still in there somewhere. Chris tried to get through to him. "I think you'll want to hear this."

Harry glanced from one detective to the other, seeming to weigh Chris' words before coming to a quick decision. He stepped backward with a sigh, waving them into the house.

Chris met his partner's worried glance as they took their seats on the living room couch.

"What is this all about?" Harry asked from his high-back chair, facing them across the coffee table much as he would across his desk at the shop.

"We've had a very interesting morning," Chris began. "Dispatch contacted us at 7:30 with a request for our presence at a crime scene over on Bates Avenue."

"That call was assigned to Murphy and Curtis."

"Murphy was quick to point that out," Rita spoke up with a fleeting smile. "We tried to trace the origin of the message, but the information left with dispatch turned out to be false. Not long after you left the precinct, Chris received a call from John, your godson."

"He tried to reach you this morning, but couldn't," Chris explained quickly. "He wanted you to know that Victor Cartwright died while awaiting trial."

"I already know about Victor." The Captain was out of his seat, pacing the small living room.

"John was concerned about someone by the name of Joey G., and frankly, based on what little information he was able to pass on, I don't blame him."

Harry's expression turned to stone. "Has John been contacted by Joey?"

Chris shook his head. "Not directly. John wasn't even sure if the guy was back on the streets until this morning, but while I was talking on the phone…"

"I was handed a business card that had been left for us at the front desk." Rita held out the small white card to her boss, who had stopped his pacing directly in front of her. Her eyes never left his face as he studied the writing on both sides. Try as he might to appear unaffected, he clearly knew more than he was letting on.

"The number is too long to be a phone number," Chris pointed out, but the Captain didn't seem to be listening.

"Joseph Greene was in my precinct? My precinct?!"

Before Chris could ask how he had come to that conclusion, Harry's fist hit the nearest wall in a reaction so out of character, his audience was momentarily speechless.

"Hesch, what's wrong?"

Fran Lipschitz rushed into the room and straight over to her husband, whispering private words of comfort as she stroked the side of his face and attempted to calm him down. Chris looked away from the couple and turned to Rita. Her expression, a mixture of confusion and concern, matched his. "There is something else we need to talk about," he reluctantly informed the Captain.

Hands placed on his hips; Harry Lipschitz threw his wife a pointed look. "Leave us, Fran."

"Not on your life, Buster."

Fran was not a woman to be argued with when her mind was made up. She bustled past her husband and took possession of his empty chair while he motioned for the detectives to sit back down. "Get to the point," he requested of Chris, claiming the chair next to his wife's.

"To make a long story short," Chris began hesitantly, already knowing how the Captain would react to the next bit of news, "Cotton stopped by the precinct. A couple of guys who he seems to think are connected were in Dream Girls looking for information about the Palm Beach PD, Rita and me in particular."

"What in God's name is DiBarto sticking his nose into now?" Harry burst out.

"I don't think this has anything to do with Donnie, Cap." Rita held her own under the Captain's glare.

"Hesch."

"No, Fran."

**Chris tried to decipher** the series of meaningful glances that passed between the captain and his wife, but it was a private language created by two people who were just as much in love with each other now as they had been thirty years earlier. Just when he thought he might be able to crack the code, Fran stood up and stormed out of the room.

The Captain stood up and seemed ready to follow her. "We'll talk about this back at the office," he announced, making it clear to both detectives that the meeting was over. "I'll be there in an hour."

Their only option was to do as he instructed and head back to the shop. Chris followed Rita out of the house, slipping an arm around her shoulders as they walked towards the car.

His partner offered a gentle smile. "I'm worried about them," she admitted when he let go of her to open the passenger door. She hesitated before entering, turning to face him with the car door between them. "I don't think I've ever seen Fran this upset."

"Neither have I, but Cap is the one who worries me the most. I can't figure out why he's being so secretive."

"Maybe he just didn't want to say anything in front of Fran."

Chris recognized the wistful look in her eyes. "I doubt it's that simple, Sam." He held onto the door, closing it firmly after she was settled in the passenger seat. Walking around to the driver's side, he glanced at his watch - not quite ten o'clock yet. There was still time to call George and reschedule their meeting on the Renquist case.

….

**"Go ahead, Lorenzo.** Get it off your chest before you bust a blood vessel."

Rita cast her partner a sideways glance, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before they both turned to face the Captain. They had been sitting in his office for the past ten minutes, waiting impatiently as he returned phone calls and signed whatever reports had landed on his desk in the two hours he had been gone.

"Excuse me."

All eyes turned to George Donovan, who was standing in the open doorway.

"Come in and sit down, Donovan," the Captain requested.

George struggled unsuccessfully to hide his surprise. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he blustered, "just wanted to let you know that two o'clock for Renquist is okay by me."

"Forget Renquist for now." The captain waved him in insistently. "We have a more pressing problem."

The assistant district attorney pulled the door closed behind him and took a seat.

"What's going on, Cap?" Chris wasted no time getting back to the heart of the matter.

"Where would you like me to start?" Harry hedged. "The call from John, the business card, or your friend, Cotton?"

"Let's start with the call from John," Rita suggested. "Who is Joey G.?"

The Captain dropped his gaze as if suddenly fascinated with the pen in his hand. "Joseph Greene is a criminal. He worked on and off for Victor Cartwright, a big-time New York fence who had been under investigation for years. Joey called himself Cartwright's financial consultant, but he never fooled me. I knew he had a hand in at least four of the unsolved murders on the books that year alone."

"How did a guy like that end up in protective custody?"

Chris' question drew a frustrated sigh from their boss. "Getting enough evidence on Victor Cartwright was difficult, but when another of his customers turned up dead, we found an eyewitness willing to place him at the scene of the crime. Joey G. wasn't responsible for that particular hit, but I had every intention of taking him down at the same time until federal authorities stepped in. Without a witness to the actual murder, they felt our case was weak. They wanted Victor for the interstate transportation and sale of stolen goods. According to them, the only way to ensure a conviction was with Joey's cooperation and testimony."

George's interest was piqued. "And Greene agreed to this?"

"In a heartbeat," Harry scoffed. "He knew there wasn't enough evidence to charge him in the four unsolved murders. Joey never pulled the trigger himself - he'd never dirty his hands that way - but the hits were carried out on his orders."

"How do you know this?" George probed.

"He told me."

"He confessed?" Rita asked in surprise.

"Yes." Harry glanced at her. "But only to me. Joey considers himself a master of mind games. He knew I fought against his deal with the Feds and didn't appreciate my interference, so he tried to exact a little personal revenge."

Rita thought she caught a brief flare of hatred in her boss's eyes, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure it had ever been there, to begin with. Such a violent emotion was completely out of sync with the man she thought she knew so well. "What did he do?" she asked gently.

Harry cleared his throat and purposely returned the conversation to a more formal tone. "What he did or didn't do to me doesn't matter; it's in the past. What we do need to find out is why he is here in Palm Beach." He turned to Donovan. "Joey contacted me by phone this morning. He also came by the station and dropped this off for Lance and Lorenzo." He showed George the small white business card. "The number on the back is his NYPD case number."

Ignoring the shocked look on his detective's faces, he continued, "I need a couple of favors, Donovan. I'd appreciate some help in finding out the specifics of his release. I'd also like to know if there is anything we can do about the old charges that were waived in order to secure his testimony."

"Will do," George agreed with a nod. "What was the reason for his call this morning, Harry?"

"He wanted to reminisce about old times."

"What about us, Cap? What can Rita and I do?" Chris was sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to take action.

"Nothing, right now."

"No way."

"I have my reasons, Lorenzo. I'd rather you and Rita didn't get mixed up in this."

Chris was on his feet, reaching for the business card. "Joey brought us into the mix when he dropped this off."

"And that's exactly why I don't want you involved." Harry rose from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. "Let me handle Joey my way for now. He and I have unfinished business. If I need your help, I promise to ask for it."

"Cap…"

Refusing to listen to any arguments, the Captain changed the subject. "Tell me more about your conversation with Dunn."

"What does Cotton Dunn have to do with all this?" George asked, his confusion evident.

Rita remained silent, leaving all explanations to Chris, as her mind raced in a dozen different directions at once. Professionally, they were obligated to follow the Captain's orders and could not involve themselves in the unofficial Joey G. investigation. But if Cap thought they were going to let him handle this all on his own, he was sadly mistaken. Harry and Fran were family. Rita checked her notes, making sure she had copied the case number from the back of the business card.

"Any questions, Lance?"

She glanced up to find the Captain and Chris staring at her curiously. "Questions?"

Sensing her distraction, Chris jumped in with a quick recap. "Cap wants us to find Cotton and bring him in for a person-to-person chat."

"I'm not sure what good that will do, but it's worth a shot." Rita stood and moved towards the door, anxious to speak to her partner alone. "Chris and I will start tracking him down right away."

The Captain raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I want Dunn brought in here, where I can talk to him myself."

"Understood, Cap. Let's get going," she urged Chris.

The Captain held up one hand to delay them while answering his ringing phone with the other. His side of the conversation was short and cryptic. "That was Murphy," he informed them as soon as he hung up. "Have a seat. This concerns the two of you. You, too, George," he added.

"I'm afraid to even ask," Rita mumbled, sensing another complication.

"Murphy found a 35 mm camera and a used roll of film in the victim's apartment. He's on his way back from picking up the prints."

"That was fast," Chris groused as he settled impatiently in his chair.

The Captain didn't respond to Chris' comment, but Rita felt the weight of his stare. His expression was difficult to read. "What?" she finally asked.

"The pictures are all of you, Lance."

"Me?"

Chris tensed up in the seat next to her. She rested a hand on his left forearm, a silent signal that encouraged him to relax until they found out the details. Before she could ask any questions, the Captain switched his focus to her partner.

"You were at the crime scene this morning, Lorenzo. Did you recognize the victim?"

"I didn't get much of a look at the body before Murphy shooed us out of there, but the little I did see was not familiar." Chris was on the edge of his seat again. "What is this all about, Cap?"

"One of the neighbors claims to have seen you near the crime scene when she came home from work, a little before midnight last night. She recognized you this morning when you walked out of the apartment building with Rita." The Captain paused for a moment before asking bluntly, "Were you anywhere near Bates Avenue last night?"

"No, of course not."

"Can your whereabouts be verified?" The Captain was staring over the top of his glasses, waiting for an answer.

"This is ridiculous, Captain," Rita complained.

"Answer the question, Lorenzo."

"I was home alone last night, Cap, and I resent being asked. You know me better than that." Chris' frustration was turning to anger.

"I'm trying to nip these accusations in the bud, Chris. Your relationship with Rita is not exactly a secret around here. If she says she was with you, we can write this off quickly as a case of mistaken identity."

"I was working at the Outreach Center last night," Rita spoke up reluctantly. "Afterwards, I went home to my own apartment."

George stepped into the discussion. "Aren't you jumping the gun a little on this, Harry?"

The Captain removed his glasses and set them carefully on his desktop. "I know Dale Murphy. He isn't the type of detective who overstates or exaggerates a situation. The photos he picked up make it clear that the victim was following Rita. For what purpose, we don't know. The only identifying information found in the apartment was a Florida driver's license and a social security card, which Murphy checked on; both are fake." He turned to George. "If you had a dead stalker and the boyfriend of the person being stalked was the last person seen in the vicinity of the crime scene, who would you be looking to for some answers?"

"I see your point, Harry," George blustered, "but we're talking about Chris."

"I'm not saying Chris had anything to do with it, Donovan, but what I am saying is that we better make damn sure we're two steps ahead of the evidence on this one. "

"Let me talk to the neighbor," Chris suggested. "I was home alone last night. Once she gets a better look at me, she'll realize her mistake."

"No. I don't want you anywhere near this woman until we have a few facts straightened out. Let Murphy do his job. Your job is to find Cotton Dunn and bring him in."

….

**Rita's feet were tired**, and her back sore by the time they returned to Chris' place that evening. The past eight hours had been spent in a fruitless search for Cotton Dunn. The elusive con man was missing-in-action at all of his usual haunts and not responding to any of the messages left on his answering machine. Cotton seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when someone was looking for him.

"Should I make coffee?" she called out.

"Not for me," Chris answered, following her into the apartment. "I'm ready for bed."

There was a huskiness to Chris' voice that left no doubts about what else he was ready for. He caught up to her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist. Turning to face him, she smiled. They had known each other for a long time, but the more intimate side of their relationship had not yet lost its newness. "Tea, then?" she teased.

Chris frowned. "Are those my only options?" His lips sought out the side of her neck, brushing lightly across sensitive skin.

As if he had to ask? She closed her eyes, burying her fingers in his hair as his mouth moved lower, gliding over her collarbone. He touched her in the most amazing ways. Her jacket slipped from her shoulders, falling silently to the floor. His lips were soft as they trailed over the white satin straps of her camisole. "I can think of one or two others," she whispered thickly.

"Only one or two?" He smiled, eyes alight with sensual promise.

Her laughter faded to a sigh as his mouth moved lower. "Let's continue this upstairs," she suggested, taking hold of his hand and pulling him towards the wooden staircase. He cooperated at first, but stopped halfway up, tugging her back against his chest, turning her around for a deep, ravenous kiss.

"The couch is closer, " he groaned.

"But the bed is roomier."

"Nothing wrong with right here..."

For a split second, she actually considered it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. But despite the fact that her skirt was currently hiked up to her waist and her nylons were heading south, the landing was no place for an intimate encounter - not if she wanted to be able to walk without a limp in the morning. Her lips pressed against the side of his face. "What happened to your self-control, Lorenzo?"

Chris pulled back, his heavy-lidded blue gaze raking over her features before zeroing in on her mouth. "I practiced self-control for five and a half years," he murmured. "Those days are over." His mouth descended on hers as if to prove his point, and he lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the remaining stairs to the dark, second-story loft.

As soon as they reached the bed, he placed her in the center and sprawled out on top of her. Her skirt and nylons were disposed of quickly. Using only his fingertips, he traced a path from behind her knees, along the inside of her thighs, all the way up to the strip of white lace stretched taut across her lower stomach. She held her breath, shuddering when he stroked the damp material between her legs.

"Let's get married, Sam."

The suggestion caught her off guard but was temporarily forgotten as his fingers explored. She arched against his hand. "Chris?"

He responded to his name, understanding what she wanted, just as she knew he would. She mourned the loss of his touch, but aware of what lay ahead, the agony of anticipation kept her senses smoldering. She sat up, green eyes narrowing as she watched him undress. His black polo shirt hit the floor first. A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Chris had beautiful shoulders, broad and muscular despite his lean build. His arms were strong and well defined, his chest, solid. Without a belt, his pants hung low on narrow hips. As he slowly unzipped them, she reached out to touch the taut muscles of his washboard stomach. She loved the feel of his stomach, the way he trembled whenever she kissed him there. On this night, she held back, trailing a finger over the line of dark hair that began below his navel and disappeared from sight beneath the elastic waistband of his dark blue, boxer-style briefs. She glanced up to find Chris watching her intently, his eyes half-closed.

"Don't stop."

"That was going to be my line," she teased, tugging on his briefs.

It was enough to push him over the edge of control. He pulled her to her feet and she was once again in his arms. He buried his mouth in the valley between her breasts. His tongue flickered over rounded curves, tasting and teasing, leaving a wet trail as his thumbs stroked every inch of her skin, purposely avoiding the dusky rose peaks that ached in expectation.

At least she wasn't alone in her need. The proof of Chris' desire pressed urgently into her stomach. She reached between their bodies and he responded with a groan, moving back up to claim her mouth. The kiss was soulful and deep, leaving her lightheaded, euphoric, and in serious need of completion. He moved forward, guiding her backward journey down onto the bed, settling between her legs. She explored him intimately, guiding him as he pushed, and gasping as his body joined hers in the most intimate way possible. When he grabbed her waist and rolled to the side, reversing their positions, she laughed and flattened her hands atop his chest.

Perspiration dotted Rita's brow as she leaned forward, pinning his arms to the mattress. Taking a deep breath, she fought the desperate desire to move. She'd drive him out of his mind just as soon as he answered a few questions. "Did you just ask me to marry you again?"

"Forget what I said. It isn't important right now." He groaned and tried arching his hips upward, but she refused to cooperate. "Sam?"

His reluctance to answer piqued her curiosity. She experimented with a slight movement of her hips, grinning as his biceps flexed and hardened under her fingertips. Incredibly, a few other places hardened further also.

"You play dirty, Sam," he growled, breaking out of her hold as he rose up to a sitting position. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he stared into her eyes before ultimately giving in as graciously as the situation allowed. He seemed hesitant when he finally confessed, "I think it's time to set a wedding date."

Rita's grin widened. "Why didn't you just say so earlier?"

"I forgot." He jostled her on his lap as if trying to move her into a more comfortable position. "Can we drop this now?"

"Hold on a minute, partner." Rita gasped as his mouth latched on to her breast. Talk about playing dirty. Did he think he could outmaneuver her so easily? "Yes!" her body cried out in response to a sharp tug on her left nipple. He released her suddenly, leaving a ring of dampness where his mouth had been.

"Believe me, Sam," he was assuring her, "it was just a minor slip in concentration. I am totally focused elsewhere right now."

Strong hands closed around her hips, pulling her into a gentle rhythm that refused to be ignored. Hiding her face against the side of her fiancé's neck, Rita ran a hand across his chest. The time for teasing was suddenly over.

Chris seemed surprised when she lifted her head; the laughter was gone from her eyes. It took him a few seconds to read her expression, but once he did, her face was captured between his hands. "We've both had our fair share of relationships," he murmured against her lips, "but this is the first time I've ever wanted that piece of paper that says it's legal. My commitment to you is forever, Sam."

Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked away the tears as his mouth captured hers. His tongue swept past her swollen lips, insistent and demanding, devouring her emotional response and returning it as raw need. She became lost in the kiss, trembling in his arms as he increased their bodies' rhythm. They touched, tasted, and clung to each other desperately, all the while murmuring private words of love until the onslaught of sensations became so unbearable, they shattered apart, one right after the other, safe within the haven of each other's arms.

A short time later, Rita lay contentedly with her face nestled against the side of Chris' neck. His arms held her secure under the pale blue cotton sheet that protected their cooling bodies from the loft's central air. Just when she was beginning to think he had fallen asleep; he moved restlessly and nuzzled her hair.

"You all right?" she murmured sleepily.

"Yeah, just thinking."

"About?"

"I hate to bring this up right now."

"But you're worried about Cap," Rita finished the thought and lifted her head. "Me too."

"Something just isn't right about this whole situation."

"You mean besides the fact that there is a witness who claims to have seen you at a crime scene last night?"

"Yeah," Chris chuckled, disturbing her comfortable position on his chest. "Although I'm not too bothered about that particular nonsense. I was home; the mix up will be worked out soon enough. What really concerns me is Cap's attitude and the fact that someone was following you."

Rita shifted positions, propping her chin upon her arms so she could look into his eyes as they talked. Her bare legs rested between his under the sheet. "Cap never did get around to explaining why he and Frannie were so upset. Maybe I should give Frannie a call in the morning or meet her for lunch."

"You're a good friend, Rita Lance."

"Cap and Frannie are practically family, Chris. You know that."

"Speaking of family…"

"Yes?" A strange expression passed over Chris' face, but before Rita could question him, the bedside phone rang. She stretched across the pillows and grabbed the receiver, inadvertently dragging her bare breasts across his upper body. He was quick to respond in a number of interesting ways. It didn't take much to get the banked fires blazing again.

"Lance," she answered, as evenly as possible.

"Sergeant Lance? I must have dialed the wrong number. I was trying to reach Sergeant Lorenzo."

"You did. Who is this?"

"Pardon me, Sergeant. Naturally, you must be wondering who I am."

The voice was not familiar, but she detected a slight New York accent. Rita sat up, scooting off of Chris and pulling the sheet up to cover herself as she sat cross-legged on the mattress. Chris sat up also and waited for some clue as to the identity of the caller, something she hoped to confirm quickly. "I'm waiting."

"My name is Joseph Greene, Sergeant."

Bingo. She had suspected it was the elusive Joey G. from the beginning. Now all she had to do was find out why he was calling Chris' apartment. She held the receiver so Chris could listen in. "Who gave you this number, Mr. Greene?"

There was a long hesitation before Joey spoke again. "I was hoping to pass on some information to your partner, Sergeant Lance. Acquaintances of mine have mentioned that he is a suspect in a shooting that took place this morning. Is he there with you?"

"What do you want, Green?" Chris interrupted, meeting Rita's gaze.

"Interesting. This adds an unexpected twist."

"It's late," Chris snapped impatiently.

"I'd like to meet with you tomorrow morning, Sergeant. Bring your partner if you wish."

"Why would I want to meet with you, Greene? Your unfinished business, if you have any, is with my captain."

"Is that blind loyalty I hear in your voice, Sergeant Lorenzo? What a pity. He's fooled you too. Just like he fooled those young people working for him in New York."

"I am not about to sit here and argue the Captain's character with you. If you want to say something to me, just spit it out and let me get off this phone. I've got better things to do."

"No doubt." A harsh laugh followed, but Joey got himself back in control quickly. "Meet me at 7:00 tomorrow morning at the Dolphin Harbor Pier, slip 22. I have important information for you."

Rita watched the play of emotions on Chris' face. His eyes searched hers. Joey's offer was almost too good to pass up, but the Captain's instructions echoed in both their minds. She nodded.

"Go to hell, Greene," Chris responded firmly. "If you have information regarding this morning's incident, call the station and ask for Sergeant Murphy. He is the detective in charge of the case."

"You disappoint me, Lorenzo. I would expect a greater degree of curiosity from a man whose entire career is on the line."

"What makes you think my career is on the line?"

"My informants have the name of the shooter. He could be your photo double. If you want him, you'll meet with me. If you don't - he slips away quietly, leaving you to pay for his sins. The decision is yours, but if you mention our meeting to anyone beforehand, and that includes Harry, the deal is off."

Rita looked away.

"Not interested, Greene. Peddle your information elsewhere." Chris took the receiver from her hands and disconnected the call. He turned back to Rita. "As much as I hate to admit it, Cap is right."

She couldn't look at him yet, afraid he'd see how much she wanted him to accept Joey's offer.

"Sam?" Chris touched her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "The Captain is right about this guy. If we play the game his way, we're in trouble."

"I know," she admitted, still clutching the sheet. "But I've had a bad feeling about this all day. It's as if what's going on is too close, too personal to the Captain. I'm not sure how to explain it any better, but I don't think we can afford to sit around and do nothing until he's ready to clue us in."

"I agree."

"You do?" She eyed him with unabashed skepticism.

"Naturally," he assured her. "Whether Cap is willing to admit it or not, we're involved and he needs our help. But first - we need sleep."

"Sleep?" It was the way he emphasized the word that made her question him. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, he was looking a bit distracted. She let the sheet slip a little lower to confirm her suspicions.

"Well..." Chris stammered, his eyes definitely focused below her neck. "We don't have to actually sleep."

"You are incorrigible," she laughed.

He was kissing her neck, drawing her back down to lie with him on the mattress. "Don't you love it?" he whispered, raking his teeth over a delicate ear lobe.

"I love you," she stated simply, and all worries about Joseph Greene and John Smith magically disappeared - at least for the time being.

….

Chris bounded down the stairs at eight o'clock the next morning, fully dressed and ready for work despite a decided lack of rest the night before. The woman responsible for his deplorable sleeping habits was busy at the kitchen sink, washing and slicing fruit for their breakfast.

"Coffee?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder as he approached.

Slipping an arm casually around her waist, he reached for the pot. "You know what happened the last time you asked me that question."

Head down, she continued her task, slicing into a ripe peach with quick, confident strokes. Her fingers glistened with juice. "Yes, I do."

He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling. No doubt a sultry smile at his poor libido's expense. Still holding the coffee pot in one hand, he brushed the hair from her face and pressed his lips to the sensitive area below her ear. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough," she assured him with a laugh.

"Want to bet?" A ringing telephone interrupted his plans for a world speed record. What was it with phones lately? Which naturally made him think of, oh, God, his mother.

She had promised to call back.

He released Rita and the coffee pot with a suddenness that was bound to confuse her, but it couldn't be helped. "I'll get it!" he called out. The cordless phone was across the room on the coffee table.

"Hello, Mother." He saw Rita's eyebrows shoot up as she rinsed and dried her hands. She set their breakfast on the island and turned away, allowing him a few moments of privacy as she collected the daily paper from outside the front door. He lowered his voice and spoke quickly. "No, it's not a good time. There is a lot going on right now and I don't want you to upset her."

Wrong thing to say! His mother was still talking, not letting him get a word in edgewise when Rita returned to the room with a newspaper in one hand and a sheet of white paper in the other. It was his turn to raise a curious eyebrow. "You misunderstood what I meant," he assured his annoyed parental unit, but his focus was on the paper Rita held out to him. He tilted his head to read the two typed words centered on the page. It was the name of a Palm Beach motel. "I'm sorry. I have to get going," he interrupted. There was no other way to get Anna's attention. "We'll talk later, I promise."

"What did she want?" Rita asked as soon as he was able to hang up.

"You know my mother," he hedged, "it's all about her."

Rita was still looking confused.

"Don't worry, she'll call back." He pointed towards the sheet of paper. "A gift from Joey?"

"That would be my guess, Sam. It was wrapped around the folded newspaper." She handed it to him and frowned. "Are you as tired of being manipulated by this guy as I am?"

"Absolutely. All this secrecy is driving me nuts." Chris returned to the kitchen area and made himself comfortable on a bar stool. Stabbing a slice of peach with his fork, he offered it to Rita. "You know, Sam, if we turn this over to Cap, we might be throwing away our best lead yet."

"That thought has occurred to me," she admitted, claiming the seat next to his as she bit into the fruit. "But we also have to be careful about playing right into Joey's hands. We refused to meet with him, but he sends the information anyway?"

Chris used his thumb to wipe a droplet of peach juice from her chin. He offered a crooked grin. "But this time we have the advantage of knowing we're being manipulated."

"Which means we'd be prepared for whatever surprises are in store. There is also a slim chance that this guy honestly wants to help."

"Very slim chance," Chris pointed out. "Why don't we take a run by this place before work? If it pans out, we'll have some good news for Cap."

"In which case he might not go ballistic about us ignoring his orders," Rita added.

Chris pushed aside his breakfast. "Ready?"

"No." Her words stopped him short. "If you're going to keep me up half the night, I'm not going anywhere until I've had a decent breakfast."

She dug in, and Chris watched a plump blackberry disappear between her lips. "Sorry, Sam. Take your time." He shifted restlessly on the stool. "About that coffee?"

The double entendre did not get by his partner. She returned the smile, leaned into him for a quick brush of her lips across his, then shot down all hope just in case he wasn't kidding. "We definitely don't have time for coffee."

….

**An hour later,** they were questioning the manager of a motel located on the outskirts of Palm Beach. Despite having not much to go on, other than the assumption the man they were looking for bore a striking resemblance to Chris, luck was on their side. Only five of the twenty available rooms were currently occupied, and the guests in three of them had been easily eliminated based on their ages and overall descriptions.

Standing in the small, claustrophobic office, Chris listened to Rita and the manager discuss the next potential suspect. His gaze wandered to the large front window where a movement in the parking lot caught his attention. A thirty-something male dressed in faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket was opening the rear passenger door of a black, late-model SUV. Chris continued to observe the man, hoping for a better look at his face. His chance came just seconds later when another man approached and they started to argue. The second man was definitely older, gray-haired, possibly in his early fifties, but with a solid, athletic build. As if on cue, they both turned towards the office.

Stunned, Chris moved away from the glass. Somebody had gone through a lot of trouble to set this up. He motioned for Rita to follow him out of the office. As Chris neared the mystery man, the man whose hairstyle and facial features were practically a mirror image of his own, Rita veered off, following the older suspect as he headed back to his motel room. "Excuse me." Chris flashed his ID as he approached the shiny black vehicle. "Palm Beach PD. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The rear passenger door flew open in his direction, forcing him back a step, while the suspect tried to take off toward the street. Chris shoved the door closed and lunged forward, catching a fistful of leather. Both he and his adversary hit the ground hard, rolling away from the parked cars.

"Step outside and face the wall!" he heard Rita order just as a fist hit him square in the gut. The air rushed from his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned. He glanced up just as the assailant scrambled to his feet and pulled a gun from a hidden shoulder holster.

Adrenaline surged through Chris' veins as instinct took over. He threw his weight to the left, delivering a horizontal version of a roundhouse kick that knocked the gun in the air, allowing him the precious seconds needed to get back on his feet and draw his own weapon. He ordered the stranger to freeze, but there were no signs that his order had been heard. The suspect was back in possession of the flyaway gun and diving for cover in between two cars.

Chris would never be able to look back on the next few minutes with any measurable degree of calm. It all started with Rita's cry of pain as the powerfully-built man she was attempting to handcuff lashed out in rage. Twisting his body around, he managed to free an arm and swing it backward, hitting Rita across the chest and knocking her up against the building. Chris automatically started towards her but stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gunman stand and aim his weapon in Rita's direction. Chris pivoted towards him and fired two rounds, but the gunman had already taken his shot and was disappearing behind a car.

"Rita!"

Bright red splatters on the faded blue stucco nearly stopped his heart. She wasn't moving. Neither was the man she had been trying to handcuff. Chris forced his attention back to the shooter, hoping to get a clear shot, but the man stayed low, crouching down as he made his way to the street. Once there, he broke into a run, crossing the deserted two-lane road and disappearing behind an abandoned strip mall on the opposite side. Chris made no attempt to follow, fumbling for his cell phone as he rushed to his partner's side.

The motel manager peeked out of his office, and guests started to appear, opening their doors hesitantly.

Rita was lying on the ground, trapped by the body of the man she had been standing next to just moments before. Chris had seen enough gunshot wounds to the chest to recognize perfect aim, but he knelt down and checked for any signs of life before rolling the unidentified dead man off of his partner.

Hands shaking, he felt the side of Rita's neck and prayed. "Sam?" Her pulse was strong. He pushed aside the collar of her shirt. The blood was not her own.

Thank God.

An unmarked police car, lights flashing, came to a screeching halt less than ten feet from where he was kneeling, but with the phone to his ear as he requested an ambulance, Chris barely noticed.

"Lorenzo, dammit! What the hell happened?" Dale Murphy had his weapon in hand and looked more than ready to use it as he approached Chris. His partner followed, eyeing Chris with suspicion. "Was she hit?" Murphy demanded.

"No." Chris pocketed his cell phone and double-checked her injuries. The bloodstains on her blouse had scared him half to death. "This guy here was with the shooter - a younger male, mid-thirties, brown hair and blue eyes, wearing jeans and a black leather jacket; looked a lot like yours truly. He may have headed north on foot. I'm not sure."

Murphy responded quickly, calling in the information, but his partner was a bit more skeptical.

"Did you take this guy out?" Curtis asked the question without any preamble or words of concern about the downed officer in their midst. "I don't suppose there were any witnesses?"

Chris took a deep breath and did his best to ignore Jack Curtis. He shrugged out of his white linen jacket and tucked it around Rita to keep her warm. An ambulance could be heard in the distance. The hospital was less than three miles away.

Murphy crouched down next to Chris and searched the dead man's wallet for identification. "How long has she been unconscious?"

"Five minutes, maybe ten." Chris pressed a hand to the side of Rita's face. Her skin was warm, a good sign, but she was pale and there was no reaction to his touch.

"She'll be okay," Murphy assured him rather gruffly. "She just got her bell rung."

"Why are you here, Lorenzo?" Curtis interrupted. "We got an anonymous tip less than fifteen minutes ago telling us we'd find John Smith's killer at this motel."

"Say what's on your mind, Jack," Chris snapped, "and then get the hell out of my sight. Better yet, try questioning the manager. He was in the office while all this was happening."

Jack Curtis took a step closer, but Murphy stood up and got between the two men. "Go talk to the manager," he suggested, knowing that as the senior officer, his suggestion would be followed. "Curtis doesn't like you," Murphy explained unnecessarily.

"Curtis can go to hell," Chris commented without taking his eyes from his partner.

"He was next in line for a promotion when the 'Silk Stalking' detail was created."

"That's not my problem, Murphy."

"I know, Lorenzo." Murphy surveyed the parking lot with a shake of his head. "This motel is on the outskirts of nowhere. Captain Lipschitz assured me that you were busy with your own assignments and wouldn't impede the investigation. Why are you here, Lorenzo?"

Paramedics arrived at that moment, followed by an ambulance.

Chris let go of Rita's right hand, stepping away so the professionals could tend to her. Murphy was right behind him the entire time, presumably waiting for an answer, but looking pretty worried all the same. As the stretcher was being wheeled to the ambulance, Chris pulled the mystery note out of his pocket and handed it to the older man. "Somebody left this on my doorstep," he explained.

"Somebody?"

Chris climbed into the back of the ambulance.

"She'll be fine, Lorenzo," Dale Murphy called out, his eyes counseling the young detective to not do anything stupid.

"She'd better be," Chris responded, offering no assurances. Rita had been right all along. Whatever was going on here - it was definitely personal.

….

"How much longer?"

The ER nurse made another attempt to get past Chris, but he once again blocked her path.

"I don't know, Sergeant," she sighed in frustration.

"The doctor has been with her for almost half an hour."

"Your partner…"

"My fiancée." His smile was tight, as were the fists he kept clenching and unclenching at his side.

"Your fiancée is receiving the best possible care. Dr. Portman will be out here to speak with you soon."

The nurse shifted the bundle of supplies to her other arm, allowing Chris a peek at her name tag. "Sharon," he pleaded, "I have to know how she's doing."

Understanding lit up the young woman's expression. "You must be the guy they threw out of Trauma Room 4."

Chris had the decency to look embarrassed as he tried to explain. "It was a simple misunderstanding."

"Scuttlebutt around here says you were out of control."

"Do I look out of control?"

Nurse Sharon threw him an impatient look. "I've been trying to get past you for almost ten minutes," she pointed out.

Chris stepped aside and was surprised when she didn't immediately rush past him. "Has she regained consciousness?" he asked.

There was desperation in his voice, and he knew it. Rita was everything to him, his world, his future. If he had been able to control his panic and his temper, he'd be in there with her now, instead of being forced to wait in the hallway reliving that horrible scene at the motel as it played in his mind over and over again: a shot being fired, Rita unconscious on the ground... the blood on the wall behind her. A gentle hand on his upper arm brought him back to the present.

"I'll see what I can do." Sharon eyed him with concern.

"I'd appreciate it." Chris watched the young nurse disappear back into the examining room before resuming his pacing of the empty hallway. It had been suggested that he find an empty seat in the emergency room waiting area, but the thought of being ten feet further away was totally unacceptable.

"Lorenzo!"

Chris turned to find Captain Lipschitz rushing down the hallway with Frannie at his side. Relief flooded through him as he struggled to maintain his composure. He had never been happier to see two people in his life.

"Is she okay?" Harry Lipschitz didn't bother with the preliminaries. "What in the hell were you two doing at that motel anyway?"

"Chris, honey," Fran Lipschitz ignored her husband and took over the conversation. "Tell us what the doctor said. Why don't we find you a chair? You need to sit down before you fall down. You look ready to drop."

Oddly enough, Fran's fussing made him feel a whole lot better. But before he had a chance to follow her suggestion, Nurse Sharon returned to the hallway with the doctor right behind her. She nodded at Chris before slipping away to her original destination.

"Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Chris swallowed his panic. "How is she?"

"We're a little concerned that Sergeant Lance hasn't regained consciousness yet. Your partner…"

"Fiancée," Chris immediately corrected.

"I apologize, Sergeant." The doctor looked a little confused, but he continued without asking for an explanation. "Your fiancée appears to have suffered a concussion. Her vital signs are normal and other than a few bruises there are no outward signs of injury."

"If the only problem is a concussion, why is she still unconscious?"

"That is the question we need to look into right now. I've requested a CAT scan and a full blood workup.

"A few years ago," Chris began hesitantly, "there was a misdiagnosis. Rita was told she had a brain aneurysm."

"I don't remember anything in her file about an aneurysm." The Captain had been maintaining a discreet silence, but he spoke up now. "Why wasn't something like that brought to my attention?"

"We're talking almost six years ago," Chris explained, "before you arrived in Palm Beach. Rita was dating a neurologist. She complained about headaches, and he ordered a few tests, eventually diagnosing an aneurysm. After they broke up, he suggested she seek another opinion. Further tests were inconclusive."

"And you never thought to mention this?" Harry was looking a little upset.

"The tests we have now eliminate such mistakes," Dr. Portman assured Chris, "but I'll note your concerns. A nurse will be accompanying Sergeant Lance to radiology as soon as they're ready for her," he added. "Would you like to sit with her until then?"

**Harry Lipschitz remained **standing in the middle of the hospital corridor as Chris and the doctor disappeared through the trauma room doors.

"Hesch?" Frannie slipped an arm around his waist and offered a comforting hug. "I know that look."

His wife was speaking in that no-nonsense tone she reserved for the most serious of occasions. He didn't deserve a woman like his Fran - probably never had - not even in his idealistic rookie days.

"It's not your fault."

His expression remained grim. He would not add to his shame by denying the truth. "This is completely my fault, Frannie. Just like the last time."

"I won't stand for this kind of talk, Harry Lipschitz. You didn't pull the trigger six years ago, and you didn't assault Rita today. Joseph Greene is responsible for these things. Not you - never YOU. You're a good man, Harry."

"I'm an egotistical old fool," Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Too concerned with my own image, too worried about being 'right'. I let my ego get in the way of my common sense. I got lazy, sitting back in my captain's chair, assuming the Joey G. problem was solved, when all the while he was planning his revenge. How many people need to be hurt before I learn?"

"Paul and Andrea were hurt in the line of duty, but they're fine now. It happens, Hesch. You can't protect them all."

Harry stared down at his wife, his eyes darkened by painful memories. After all they had been through, she still wanted to believe in him. "I hate to ask this of you again, sweetheart, but I need you to stay here with Chris and Rita."

Fran clutched at his arm. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to talk to Joey. We need to settle this before someone else gets hurt."

"I don't want you to go."

"We're just going to talk," he assured the love of his life. She was holding on to him like a lifeline. "We both know there isn't a choice here, Frannie. The people I love are getting hurt." His eyes raked over her beautiful features. "I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you." After a brief hug, he forced himself out of her embrace. "Keep an eye on Chris," he added, his voice gruff. "If Rita doesn't regain consciousness soon, he's going to need someone here for support." He touched a finger to her lips, then turned to head down the hallway.

"Hesch!"

The fear in her voice seared him, calling out to the very depths of his soul, but he couldn't risk a response. His friends and loved ones were pawns in a game that should have ended six years ago. George was looking for a way to get Joey behind bars legally, but there were no guarantees. It was time for a face-to-face.

….

"Harry, what a pleasant surprise." The slim, silver-haired gentleman who entered the living room of the rented Palm Beach mansion didn't exactly look like the devil incarnate, but that was how Harry thought of him. After all, evil rarely came packaged with a pitchfork and horns. In this case, it looked right at home in an expensive gray silk suit and Italian loafers.

"Cut the niceties, Joey. You know why I'm here."

"Please," Joseph Greene indicated an overstuffed white sofa. Sunlight streamed in through two pairs of French doors, basking the high-ceilinged room with a strange, ethereal glow. "Have a seat and tell me why you're so upset."

Harry shook his head. He was here to end things, not fall deeper into Joey's web of manipulation. "I want it stopped," he said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry."

"I want you to stop playing games with the people around me. You got a problem with the past, you come to see me, but you leave my detectives and my wife out of this."

Joey started to say something, then stopped himself. The smile fell from his face. "You are in no position to tell me what to do or not do. You forced my hand back in New York. Your interference cost me six years in a Midwest hell-hole under what is loosely referred to as protective custody. I'm not a young man. You owe ME, Captain Harry Lipschitz, and I have no intention of forgetting or forgiving the debt."

"What can you possibly hope to gain?" Harry demanded. "Money?"

"Victor paid well for quality work. I have all the money I'll ever need."

"Spit it out then, Greene. What are you want from me?"

"Revenge, Harry - pure and simple. I want you miserable. I want you to lose all that is as precious to you as my freedom was to me. How does it feel knowing you're responsible for their pain?"

"You son of a..."

"Mr. Greene?" Joey's butler walked into the room. The same middle-aged, craggy-faced butler who had frisked Harry upon his arrival and tried to confiscate his gun. "There is a gentleman here to see you, sir. He claims to be from the mayor's office."

The condescending smile returned. Joey turned to Harry. "You see? I'm in Palm Beach less than a week, and already the mayor is sending over someone to say thank you for my donation to his reelection campaign. A smart man knows the importance of networking, Harry. I'm thinking of sponsoring a golf tournament next. Interested?"

Harry fumed, but there was not much he could do with a city official waiting just outside the room. "We'll talk later, Greene."

"Absolutely, Harry. You and I share a very special bond." Joey moved closer in an obvious attempt to push his guest past the breaking point. "Before I forget, please send my regards to Sergeant Lance. I hope she recovers quickly."

"You son of a… "

"Mr. Greene!" Harry recognized the simpering city councilman who rushed into the room. The annoying political wannabe shook hands with Joey as he introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Greene. The mayor has asked me to personally convey his gratitude for your generosity." Realizing they weren't alone, the councilman glanced from Joey to Harry, then back again, waiting for someone to say something.

"I'll let myself out," Harry spoke up, barely able to keep the disgust out of his voice. As if by magic, the butler appeared in the doorway.

"Until we meet again, old friend."

Joey's final words followed Harry out of the mansion like dark clouds foretelling the violence of a storm to come. Trying to talk to the man had been a waste of time. What a fool he had been to attempt a peaceable solution. The only useful information learned had been the approximate date of Joey's arrival in Palm Beach.

By the time Harry made it back to the hospital, it was a little past noon. After a quick stop at reception to find out if Rita had been moved yet, he headed for the second floor. There he found Fran sitting in a lounge area set aside for visitors and family members. She was deep in conversation with a man who stood with his back to the open doorway. The short, dark hair and athletic build were easily recognizable.

"What are you doing here, MacNeill?"

"Captain," Derek MacNeill turned and extended a hand as Harry crossed the room.

Harry took note of the firm grip and cool demeanor. "How's Rita?" he asked, eyes darting back and forth between Derek and his wife.

"Nothing has changed." Frannie rose from her chair to stand by his side. "Rita's room is two doors down. They took her for the CAT scan about half an hour ago. Chris is with her. The Lieutenant offered to keep me company for a little while."

"Did he now?"

"Actually, Captain, I stopped by in the hopes of speaking to either you or Chris - privately." Derek smiled, probably for Frannie's benefit, because it certainly didn't reach his eyes. "Dispatch mentioned you'd be stopping here before returning to the precinct."

"Is there a problem?" Frannie asked, suddenly throwing Derek a suspicious look.

"No problem," Harry assured her. "Derek and I need to talk shop for a minute. We'll take a walk down the hall, and I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," she muttered, clearly unhappy about her exclusion from the conversation.

Harry dropped a kiss on the top of his wife's head before releasing her to following Derek into the hallway. As he walked, he took a moment to study the former vice detective. "Last I heard you, were assigned to IA."

"Still am." Broad shoulders were slightly hunched as Derek walked with his hands in his pockets.

"I take it this is an official conversation."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"We have a problem, Captain."

"How serious?"

"Serious enough for me to wish I were back in Vice. This gives me no pleasure. I hope you can understand that." Derek stopped in his tracks. They were at the end of the hallway, away from the row of private rooms and the nurse's station. It was an area devoted to supply closets and storage rooms. "You know about the eyewitness and the photos of Rita."

"Circumstantial evidence at best."

"I just returned from speaking to the manager of the Triple Z motel. I interviewed him, then each of the guests personally."

"You spoke to them?" Harry was stunned. If Internal Affairs was this deeply involved already, Chris was in more trouble than they had anticipated.

"No one at the motel this morning saw the second suspect. The room registration card lists only one guest."

"What exactly are you trying to say, MacNeill?"

"I'm not saying anything yet, Captain, but we all take orders from someone. I was told to get out there this morning, interview any possible witnesses, and find out what happened." Derek met Harry's stare with a direct one of his own. "We've opened up an investigation into Chris' actions.

"Let me get this straight. You're telling me that there isn't a single witness to what happened in that parking lot? None of the guests or any of the neighbors bothered to look out their windows after the shots were fired?"

"From what I've learned, it all happened in a matter of a few minutes. The manager claims Chris and Rita left his office very suddenly, right in the middle of a conversation. He started to follow, but his phone rang, and by the time he answered it, the shouting had begun. He heard two shots, maybe three." Derek grimaced as he looked at Harry. "That's what I need to talk to Chris about. A gun was found about twenty feet away from where Rita went down, and a ballistics test has been ordered to see if it matches the gun used in the Smith murder. The serial number was easy to trace. The weapon belongs to a suspect Chris arrested two weeks ago."

"Was the gun put into evidence back then?"

"No, the suspect was released two days later and claims the gun was missing when he got home."

"And you believe this guy?"

"Not necessarily; he's been back in jail for a week on unrelated charges. Can you see how complicated this is all getting, Captain? Everywhere we turn, the evidence points to Chris' involvement."

"My involvement in what?"

Harry turned to find Chris walking towards them, holding his left shoulder and working his left arm in a circular motion. Whether he was just stiff or actually injured, Harry couldn't tell, but the flash of pain in the young detective's eyes was soon replaced by wariness. Frowning, Harry was quick to inquire, "What's going on with Rita?"

"No change," Chris responded, "but her vital signs are still good. Dr. Portman promised to go over the results of the test with me as soon as possible." He turned to Derek. "Were you looking for me?"

Derek reached inside his jacket. "I have a search warrant for your apartment."

Harry grabbed the document out of Derek's hand. "Are you nuts? Why wasn't I told about this?"

"Look, Captain… Chris… I don't know what the hell is going on with this case, but the press is involved already, the mayor has been on the phone to the police commissioner, and my boss has been abusing my cell phone all damn morning."

Chris remained silent, but Harry sensed he was seething on the inside.

Derek continued to be direct and to the point. "I think you should come with me to your place."

"No." Chris turned away from his former partner and started back down the hallway to Rita's room. Derek followed and tried to stall him with a hand to his shoulder.

"I don't want to do this, Chris, but there isn't a choice. I'm offering you the chance to be there and protect your own interests."

"My only interest at the moment is Rita and making sure she didn't suffer any serious harm this morning. Why don't you mention that to the mayor and the commissioner."

"We can be done with this quickly."

"Take your hands off of me," Chris warned, his eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits of cobalt blue. "You want to search my apartment? Go ahead and search all you like, but I am not leaving this hospital until Rita is ready to walk out the front door with me."

"You might not have a choice."

Chris shrugged out of Derek's hold and continued on his way without saying another word. By this time, Fran had stepped out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about. Chris stopped and spoke quietly to her for a few seconds before disappearing into Rita's room.

"He's too emotionally involved to think clearly," Derek stated.

Harry eyed him with a disgusted shake of his head. "What did you expect? His partner was nearly killed. Until he knows she'll be all right, your accusations will have to take a back seat." Harry peered closer, trying to gauge Derek's true feelings on the matter. "You lose your heart when they promoted you?"

"No. I didn't lose my heart, Captain," Derek muttered, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration, "but since working in Internal Affairs, I've had it broken a time or two. You and I both know that I wouldn't be doing my job if I let personal feelings get in the way."

Something inside of Harry snapped. Derek was discussing Chris as if he were actually capable of betraying the system they had each sworn to uphold. "Is executing that search warrant absolutely necessary?"

"It's out of my hands."

"Then make sure you're there when it's done. Chris has always been a friend to you. You owe him that much."

"I'm heading over there right now," Derek assured Harry.

"Keep me in the loop." Harry glanced at his wife and lowered his voice. "I'd appreciate an update when you get back to the shop. I'll either be there or here at the hospital."

"You got it." Derek took his leave, calling out a quick good-bye to Fran before heading towards the elevator.

"Hesch?"

Frannie moved to Harry's side, staring up at him with such compassion and care, he felt a surge of guilt. "Everything will be all right," he muttered with a tight smile.

"What happened when you talked to Joey?"

End of Chapter One

As alway, feedback by PM or review is always appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry's Winter**

(Chapter 2)

By: resauthor

There was no way Harry could protect his wife from the truth. "Joey refuses to let up. He won't be happy until everyone I care about is destroyed. He blames me for the last six years."

"Why can't you just arrest him and be done with it?"

"It's not that easy," he explained. "I don't have anything to charge him with."

"Is he responsible for what happened to Rita?"

"I believe so."

Frannie took a moment to digest what he was saying. "First things, first," she said, in a valiant attempt to get the focus off Joey. "Let's go check on Rita."

Following his wife, Harry steeled himself for his first view of Rita lying hurt in a hospital bed. All of the detectives working under his command were special, but something about Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance had turned them into more than co-workers or friends. They were like family, and when one member of a family hurt, the others shared in their pain.

Entering Rita's room, he approached the bed and forgot everything but his concern for her.

"She'll be okay, Hesch."

He clung to Frannie's words. Rita looked so fragile - so small amidst the sterile white linens and bright orange blanket. His hands tightened around the metal bed rail. Joey would pay for this. He would pay for Paul and Andrea being hurt six years ago - he would pay for the murders he orchestrated in New York City - but most of all he would pay for daring to turn his revenge on Chris and Rita.

"Captain?" Chris was standing on the other side of Rita's bed.

"Yeah?"

"What's going on? What is all this about?"

"Why did you go to that motel this morning?" Harry answered Chris' question with one of his own. His head shook sadly, his eyes never left Rita's face. "I asked you to leave it alone. Just this once, why couldn't you listen?"

"We wanted to help," Chris said. "Joey called last night and offered us the name of the shooter in the Smith murder if we'd meet with him at the Dolphin Harbor Pier."

"That's his style. I tried to warn you."

"We turned him down flat." Chris sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Rita's arm, missing the surprised glance from his boss. "But when we found the note he slipped into the morning paper, we thought we could handle it. We wanted to help," he repeated softly.

….

**Two hours later Harry was seated at his desk,** combing through Murphy's preliminary report on the Smith murder, hoping to uncover some small detail that had been overlooked. He glanced up to find a grim-faced Derek MacNeill standing in the open doorway. "What did you find?"

Derek pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto Harry's desk. "We found this note in Chris' apartment."

_Witnessed you in action Sunday night. Silence is costly. Will contact you soon._

"The handwriting appears to match Thorson's registration card at the motel. The lab will try and pull prints."

"I'm a little lost here," Harry confessed with no small amount of sarcasm. "You think Chris had something to do with both the Smith and Thorson murders?"

"We have a witness who claims to have seen Chris in front of Smith's apartment the night he was killed."

"So, Chris pops this Smith guy for tagging after his girlfriend. A theory that is ridiculous, at best, but I'll humor you for now. So - why shoot Thorson?"

"Evidence at the crime scene indicates that Rita was attempting to handcuff Thorson when he went ballistic. One theory we need to consider is Chris shooting Thorson to protect his partner."

"With a throwaway gun? What other bright ideas are you working on?"

"Murphy's partner, Carter, is trying to connect Thorson to the Smith case. If what he suspects is true, Chris might have wanted Thorson dead to cover his tracks."

Harry leaned forward over his desk. "You actually believe Chris is capable of shooting not one, but two people in cold blood?"

Derek shrugged. "Look, Captain, I admit this is completely out of character, but the evidence is piling up and I have to proceed according to departmental regulations. If Chris is innocent, he'll be exonerated."

"Chris is innocent. Can't you smell the set up here, MacNeill? The stench is so strong I can barely breathe."

"For what purpose?"

"You're the hotshot detective - find out. Ignore the politicians and go with your gut." Leery of pushing Derek too far, Harry changed tactics. "What do you plan on doing while you wait for the lab results?"

"I'm on my way back to the hospital. Chris will have to be brought in for questioning."

Harry's jaw tightened. This next move from IA was to be expected, but he had hoped for more time. "Have you tried to contact Chris yet?" he asked.

"No, I thought I'd break this to him in person." Derek retrieved the evidence bag from Harry's desk. Keeping his eyes focused on the incriminating note, he added, "Of course, by the time I get to the hospital, he might be gone. In which case, I doubt I'll be able to catch up to him before morning."

The underlying message surprised Harry. "You don't plan on broadcasting this yet?"

"That aspect was left to my discretion and I don't feel it's necessary at the moment. Chris is not considered a flight risk as long as Rita is in the hospital."

Harry shook his head in amazement. "You guys in IA are real sweethearts, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know." Derek offered a sardonic grin. "I guess I should get going and leave you to your work. You probably have a few phone calls to make."

….

**"No. Absolutely not,"** Chris struggled to keep his voice down as he paced the hospital room floor with his cell phone pressed to his ear. His expression remained hard and uncompromising. He was not leaving Rita's side until he knew she was okay.

"You don't have a choice, Chris."

"I am so tired of that phrase, Cap."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

"Do you trust me, kid?"

Trust? Chris was silent for a moment. Harry and Fran Lipschitz had enriched his life and Rita's from the moment the older couple had arrived in Palm Beach. Professional respect had led to personal friendships, and personal friendships had slowly evolved into something even more solid and enduring. Did he trust the Captain? "Of course," he answered honestly.

"Derek is on his way to the hospital. One way or another, you have to leave Rita long enough to straighten this mess out. I can help, but if IA gets to you first, we'll lose too much time and end up drowning in red tape."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Let me talk to Frannie."

"She went down to the cafeteria to pick up a sandwich. Threatened to force-feed me if I refuse to eat whatever she brings back."

"Me, she starves. You, she tries to fatten up." The Captain's voice was loaded with affection, but he rushed to add, "Frannie can stay at the hospital with Rita. Do you know how to get to George's place?"

"Sure."

"I'm on the road now. I'll meet you there in fifteen."

"I don't know, Cap."

"Rita is in good hands, Chris. You can't be of any use to her if you're tied up in interrogations, or worse yet, locked up. Frannie will contact us the instant Rita wakes up."

Chris did not want to leave Rita's side, but his options were disappearing fast.

"You'll need a car," the Captain was saying.

The door to the room opened and a sympathetic face peeked in.

"No need for a car." Grabbing the door handle, Chris jerked the door open so quickly, the visitor stumbled forward. "I'll be there, Cap," he promised before disconnecting the call.

"Chris. Buddy." Cotton Dunn stepped cautiously towards the bed. "I just heard. How is she?"

"What are you doing here, Cotton?" Chris whispered. After a quick glance at Rita, he grabbed the impish con man by the shirt sleeve and hustled him back out into the hallway.

"I stopped by the station and heard the news."

"I need a ride across town," Chris interrupted, holding up a hand to silence Cotton as Frannie approached carrying a plastic-wrapped turkey sandwich and a can of soda. He filled her in on the Captain's phone call and extracted a promise from her to call him immediately if Rita's condition changed.

Mindful that Derek would be there soon, he returned to room 204 for a private good-bye. He eyed the heart monitor, taking comfort in the steady flash of numbers. This was not the first time Rita had been hurt in the line of duty, but despite the doctor's reassurances and the encouraging test results, it never got any easier. Leaning on the bed rail, he ran a finger over the IV needle taped to the back of her left hand. He slipped his hand under hers. Her engagement ring had been removed and was safely tucked away in his wallet.

"I won't be gone long, Sam," he promised, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Chris?" Frannie had entered the room silently. "I'll be right here, sweetheart. She won't be alone for a minute."

It was hard to drag his eyes away from the woman he loved more than life itself. "You'll call me the minute she wakes up?"

"I promise."

Chris squared his shoulders and touched Rita's cheek one last time before turning to Fran and enveloping her in a brief, but enthusiastic hug.

"I'll be back."

Cotton was waiting impatiently in the hallway, holding a half-eaten sandwich.

"Let's go," Chris headed for the stairway.

"Chris! Slow down. I've got news for you about those two thugs who came into the club last Saturday night." Cotton had to jog to keep up. "It took hours and hours of hard work, not to mention finely honed detective skills and true genius, but I finally found out where they're staying!"

"Let me guess," Chris shouted over his shoulder. "The Triple Z Motel."

Cotton paused on the landing between the first and second floors. "How did you know that?"

Chris shoved open the door leading to the hospital parking lot, not bothering to answer. If there had been time to spare, he would have wrung Cottons neck. "Beauty" was less than ten steps from the exit, parked at an angle across two blue-lined handicap parking spaces. He held out a hand for the keys. They were exiting the lot by way of a driveway on the far side when he caught a glimpse of a dark blue department issue sedan parking in a space close to the building. If Derek spotted them, he didn't let on.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief. He was anxious to hear what the Captain had to say and more determined than ever to untangle the weird happenings of the last few days so he could return to Rita's side.

….

"I had two detectives scouring the city for you yesterday," Harry stormed. "Where the hell have you been?"

Chris watched Cotton squirm in his seat, knowing exactly what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the Captain's temper.

"I was getting Chris the information he wanted. Took me all night to find somebody who'd talk about the two walking refrigerators who came into the club and threatened me. I finally found a guy who's looking to collect two Gs from another guy on Front Street, and the guy on Front Street has a cousin who owns a car rental agency over on Main. The cousin literally ran into our two guys in the parking lot of the club Saturday night. According to him, he apologized for bumping the older of the two, but they almost took his head off anyway."

Elbows resting on George's dining room table, Harry Lipschitz pressed his fingertips to his temples. "So, you found something?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." Cotton was smiling triumphantly. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are staying at the Triple Z motel registered under the name of Thorson."

"We know that already, Dunn! Chris and Rita were there this morning."

"But you do have to admit it was pretty impressive work on my part."

George Donovan was holding a cold beer when he walked back into the dining room from the kitchen. "You sure I can't get you one?" he asked Chris. He was quick to shoot down Cotton's hopeful look with a glare. "Coffee will be ready in a few minutes."

"Any luck on the legal issues, George?" Harry questioned.

"We've got nothing, Harry. As of right now, Joseph Greene is a free man."

Harry did a quick update for George's benefit. "Dunn traced the two men who questioned him Saturday night to the Triple Z motel. Joey's phone call to Chris ties Thorson and our unnamed suspect to the Smith case. When I head back to the shop, I'll take Cotton to the morgue and see if he can identify Thorson as one of the men from the club."

"The morgue?" Cotton wrinkled his nose in disgust. "No thank you. They store dead people in drawers at that place."

Chris couldn't help smiling. "Squeamish, Cotton?"

"Dead people don't make good marks," George pointed out.

Cotton managed to look insulted. "Very funny."

"Back to business, gentlemen," Harry cut in. "We don't have much time."

Chris had a sudden thought. "Can you describe the smaller of the two men, Cotton?"

"Sure."

"About my age?"

Cotton gave Chris the once over. "Yeah, about your age."

"How about hair color?"

"He was wearing a hat. One of those fedora type deals. A little overdone, if you get my drift, but anybody who wears that kind of hat nowadays is looking to make a strong statement anyway."

"His hair Cotton." Chris' reminder was a little sharp, but he had a hunch and was impatient to have it validated. A quick glance in the Captain's direction showed he was following the line of questioning.

"He did tip his hat to one of the dancers," Cotton muttered, deep in thought. "But you know what the lighting is like in a nightclub. His hair was dark, maybe brown or black, and cut short on the sides." His eyes widened. "Come to think of it, he looked a lot like you, Chris."

Chris locked eyes with the Captain, then George. "Proof of a second suspect."

"Time for you to take a hike, Dunn."

The Captain's comment came as a surprise.

"I thought I was a part of this team?"

"Police business, Cotton." Chris reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties, handing them to Cotton. "Why don't you run down to Renee's and pick up sandwiches for everyone. We should be done by the time you get back."

After a minimum of arguing and a great deal of ego-stroking, Cotton was on his way to pick up the food, guarantying the remaining three men at least thirty minutes of privacy.

As soon as the front door closed behind Cotton, Chris turned to the Captain. "I need to know everything."

"I realize that now, but it's difficult to know where to begin."

It was a scene reminiscent of their last discussion in the Captain's office, painfully reminding Chris of his partner's absence. "What happened in New York?"

"As I explained yesterday, Joey was taken into protective custody by the Feds, but what I failed to mention was that a couple of days before his deal with them was signed and sealed, I gave two of my detectives the okay to pull him in for questioning on a recent hit. The victim was a known customer of Victor Cartwright's.

"Joey was slick as usual. Paul and Andrea were young detectives and fairly green. They both had backgrounds in Vice, but no real experience dealing with someone like Joey. Since we weren't prepared to charge him, he was back out on the streets within a few hours. For the next two days, he made my life a living hell, taunting me with details of past murders. Joey is smart. He always managed to get this information to me in a way that couldn't be traced."

Chris listened to the anguish in Harry's voice. "Nobody else knew about this?" he asked.

"I appealed to the federal authorities, but without proof, their current case against Cartwright was a priority." Harry cleared his throat. "If I had left it there, I could forgive myself. If I hadn't let my ego get in the way, no one else would have been hurt."

"It was your sworn duty, Cap," Chris tried to assure him. "To do any less would have been wrong."

"Duty doesn't seem so important when you end up with two young detectives undergoing surgery for gunshot wounds."

"Paul and Andrea?"

"Courtesy of Joseph Greene."

….

**Frannie Lipschitz glanced up** as the door to Rita's room opened and a nurse walked in. There were at least two dozen long stem red roses in the expensive crystal vase she was carrying.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

"They certainly are." Frannie smiled despite her bewilderment. The dramatic display of affection seemed out of character for Chris.

"There wasn't a card," the nurse informed her. "I suppose they're from Sergeant Lorenzo."

"They're engaged to be married."

"Trust me, everyone here understands that Sergeant Lance is engaged to that handsome young man. He mentioned it so many times, it's probably written on her chart by now."

"Chris is a bit overwrought today." Which might explain the flowers. Or not. Frannie stared at the velvety red petals with foreboding.

Unaware of the flower's impact, the nurse smiled as she checked the setting on Rita's IV. "You mean he isn't normally so protective?"

"Oh, he's like that all the time. He's just usually sneakier about it. Rita isn't the type to put up with being pampered."

"Wouldn't bother me in the least."

"I know what you mean," Frannie agreed. Harry was very good at pampering.

"Can I get you anything?" the nurse inquired, bringing Frannie's thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"No, I'm fine," she responded, "thank you anyway." As soon as the nurse slipped out the door, Frannie dialed Harry's cell phone number. Thankfully, he picked up before the second ring. The tone of his voice worried her, but she had to ignore that for now. "Two dozen red roses were just delivered," she blurted out.

She could hear Harry asking Chris about the flowers. Harry must have handed over the phone because it was Chris' voice she heard next.

"Was there a card?" he asked.

"No card."

"They aren't from me, Fran."

"I was afraid of that."

Muffled voices could be heard in the background.

"Hesch?"

"I'm here, Frannie. As soon as we hang up, I'll call the precinct and have them send over a uniformed officer to stand guard outside the room."

She felt surprisingly relieved. "Who do you think sent the flowers?"

"I have no idea, sweetheart, but we're putting our heads together over here and hopefully we'll be able to figure it out."

"I'll have the nurse remove them from the room." Frannie lowered her voice. "There hasn't been any change in Rita's condition, Hesch. I'm getting worried."

"Don't lose faith, Frannie. Chris and Rita have been through a lot together. They'll get through this, too."

Hearing her Harry say it out loud, made all the difference in the world. She gripped the phone tightly. "Be careful out there, Harry Lipschitz. I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

By the time Fran hung up the phone, she was feeling a hundred percent better. She buzzed the nurse's station and smiled as she instructed the surprised woman to remove the impressive floral arrangement. Never one to waste perfectly good flowers, no matter who the sender was, Fran suggested they be split up and passed around to any patients who needed a little cheering.

….

**Chris paced George's living room,** too wired to remain sitting at the table. "We need someone to try and trace that flower delivery. Did Frannie say which florist they were from?"

"No," The Captain muttered, dialing the precinct.

Chris listened as his boss left instructions with Dale Murphy regarding security for Rita's hospital room. After adding a request to fax photos of Smith and Thorson to John Grady in New York, the Captain surprised Chris by asking Dale to find out who was responsible for sending the long stem red roses to Rita.

"Why have Dale do the trace?" he asked as soon as the Captain hung up.

"If those flowers are in any way connected to Joey Greene, Dale will find out. I've already explained the New York connection to him. He knows that Joey is part of an old case and is probably behind both the Smith and the Thorson murders."

"Sounds like you explained a lot more to him than you did to us," Chris stammered, surprised at how disappointed the news left him.

"Out of necessity, Chris," Harry explained. "He's the primary on the Smith case. Not only was it my duty to tell him everything I know, I honestly think he'll be able to help. We can trust him."

Chris tried to understand the Captain's rationale, but it was difficult. "Yet, you felt no responsibility to the truth when Rita and I came to you yesterday?" Standing in front of the man he considered one of his closest friends in the world it was hard to separate personal hurt from professional common sense.

The silence in the room was deafening.

George cleared his throat in the background. "The way I see it," he began cautiously, "we have two choices. The quickest way to wrap up this mess is to find Thorson's partner. Chris and I could focus on tracking him down. If he looks as much like Chris as everyone seems to think he does, it shouldn't be too hard for our witness to pick him out of a line-up. With two murder raps hanging over his head, he might be willing to give us Greene if we cut him a deal."

Chris turned away and dropped down onto George's couch. "And our other option?"

"Murphy is still working on Smith's background, but it looks like we've got ourselves another New Yorker. This can't all be a coincidence. John Grady mentioned a buzz on the streets up there. Maybe he can connect either Smith or Thorson to Greene's activities before he moved to Palm Beach. If not Greene - maybe this involves Cartwright. At this point, it's impossible to say where it will all lead."

"You're right, George," Harry cut in. "We have a lot of work to do." After a quick glance in Chris' direction, he turned to George. "I'd better get back to the shop and give John a call. We'll start working on the New York angle. Tell Cotton to swing by after he's eaten."

"Sure," George nodded. "But why don't you stay a little longer? He should be back any minute with the food."

"I'm not really hungry." Harry checked his watch. "I figure we have a twelve-hour window before Derek starts breathing down our necks. Good luck on this end. Be careful."

Chris nodded in response, but he remained silent. His thoughts were in turmoil and before he could gather them, Harry was out the door.

"You didn't give him much of a chance, Chris." George's tone held a note of disapproval.

Chris frowned before offering a hesitant, "Yeah, I know. I'll give him a call just as soon as we hear from Fran."

"It isn't easy, you know."

"What?"

"Keeping a reign on all you young hotshots. Think about how he must feel having to admit he made a mistake in the past."

"We all make mistakes, George."

"But when you're a man like Harry and you're in a position of authority, you don't cut yourself any slack. It must eat at him every day, thinking those detectives were shot because of the way he handled Joey."

The Captain was a strong leader, always so sure of himself, so good at making snap decisions. More importantly, he was a good man. It was hard to imagine him burdened by self-doubts, especially over decisions made half a decade ago. "Those detectives that worked with Cap in New York - did they survive their injuries?"

"Honestly, I don't know. He's never mentioned them before today."

"Why are you involved in this, George?"

The question seemed to surprise the Assistant District Attorney. Embarrassed, he shrugged. "We're all on the same side, Chris."

"And?"

"And if it were my job on the line instead of yours, I know you'd do the same for me."

"You're getting soft, George."

George smirked in disgust and disappeared into the kitchen.

Chris pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the small black object, willing it to ring with news about Rita. He shouldn't have left her.

….

**Rita's mouth was dry,** dry as a desert, and licking her lips with a tongue that felt like sandpaper didn't help much. Focusing inward, listening to the sounds of her own breathing, she tried to get her bearings. No doubt about it - her head hurt, and any effort to lift her eyelids only increased the pain.

Frannie's response to her moan signaled a return of the outside world.

"Rita? Can you hear me, Sweetheart?"

Helplessness was not a condition Rita Lance tolerated with patience. A second attempt to open her eyes was partially successful. She glanced around the room with half-raised lids. Lifting a hand to her head brought attention to the IV. Her engagement ring was missing. Why was she in the hospital?

"Welcome back, Sweetheart." Frannie gently guided her arm back down to the mattress.

"Where's Chris? What happened, Fran? Is he all right?" Her voice sounded strange; her words slightly slurred.

Frannie poured water into a cup and held it to her lips, but Rita was agitated and couldn't manage more than a quick sip.

"Take it easy, Hon," Fran murmured soothingly. "I'll call the nurse."

"Fran, please." Fran wasn't telling her something. Was Chris hurt? Try as she might to recall everything that happened in the motel parking lot, her head was still pounding and her memories were fuzzy.

"Chris is fine, Hon. I swear it. He's with George and Harry right now. They're going to fix everything."

"What do you mean 'fix everything'?" Rita tried to sit up.

Her question went unanswered as a man whose name tag identified him as Dr. Portman entered the room accompanied by a nurse. The next half hour was spent responding to Dr. Portman's questions and trying to convince him she was perfectly fine. The good doctor was determined to keep her in the hospital overnight, for observation, he claimed. But Rita was just as determined to return to the outside world. Overcome by a growing sense of urgency, she knew she had to find Chris.

"You need rest, Sergeant Lance."

"My CAT scan was fine. You said so yourself."

"Yes, your CAT scan was fine, but you were unconscious for nearly seven hours, which is something we cannot dismiss lightly.

Rita ignored the doctor's frown. "This is not my first concussion, Dr. Portman. I know enough to take it easy. Frannie will help me get home. Right, Fran?"

Strangely enough, Frannie had moved away from the bed and was frantically dialing her cell phone. She responded with a distracted nod, but Rita could tell she had no idea what she was agreeing to. Dr. Portman was not impressed.

Rita swung her legs over the side of the bed, bracing herself as a wave of dizziness struck. Taking a deep breath, she held out her left hand to the doctor. "Can we get rid of this as soon as possible." She'd hate to have to pull the needle out by herself, but she'd do it if necessary.

"Sergeant Lance!"

The sound of the doctor's raised voice got Frannie's attention. She eyed Rita with concern. "What are you doing, Honey?"

"I'm leaving against medical advice," Rita said matter-of-factly, wincing as the IV was removed. The heart monitor was next.

The doctor was shaking his head. "If you insist on doing this, Sergeant Lance, I can't stop you; but I strongly suggest you have a friend or family member stay with you for the next twenty-four hours. I'll prescribe a painkiller for the headache."

Painkillers - those would be good. Once the headache was gone, she could concentrate on staying awake long enough to help Chris.

"I tried Harry's number," Fran explained as soon as the doctor left, "and I tried Chris', but I keep getting their voice mail.

"Maybe they're talking to each other."

"I'm sure you're right." Fran moved closer to the bed and brushed the hair back from Rita's face, fretting over her like a mother hen. "Are you sure it's a good idea to go home so quickly?"

"We aren't going home, Fran." Rita set her feet on the floor, testing her balance before attempting to walk. "Why is Perkins standing outside the door?" She had recognized the uniformed officer the first time the door swung open.

"I don't think you should be rushing around like this, Hon."

Rita found her slacks folded and stacked neatly on a shelf in the mini-closet, along with her undergarments. Her blouse was missing, but her vest was there, and she could make do with just that if necessary. She began to dress. "Can you tell me anything about what happened at the motel? I don't remember much."

"The guy you were trying to handcuff knocked you unconscious right before he was shot. He's dead."

"And the other suspect?"

"I think he got away..."

As soon as Rita finished buttoning her vest, she reached for her shoes. "Try Chris' number again." Bending over and straightening up too fast was not such a good idea.

"Derek MacNeill was here this morning," Frannie offered, her expression worried as she dialed the phone.

"Derek works for Internal Affairs." Rita moved around the room restlessly. "We need to get out of here."

"I know you're worried," Frannie said, "but you've been hurt, Hon. You need to go home and rest."

"I've been resting for hours," Rita interrupted, wishing she knew where her weapon was. "If the Captain were in trouble, wouldn't you do anything you could to help him?"

"Of course."

"He is in trouble, Fran, and so is Chris." Something about Fran Lipschitz's expression assured Rita that this was not a big surprise. "Frannie? What do you know about Joseph Greene?"

Frannie paled. "I'll try Harry at the precinct."

….

**Dale Murphy entered Harry Lipschitz's office** with a quick, perfunctory knock on the metal door frame. "Got a minute, Captain?"

"What do you have?" Harry asked.

Dale handed over the fax he had been holding. "Surprised?"

Harry read the name a second time before attempting a response. Surprise was too mild a word. "This is not possible."

"It's not the name you expected?"

"God, no." Harry stood up and walked around his desk, unable to take his eyes off the report. "Are you sure this person sent the flowers?"

"Absolutely. The purchase was made with a corporate credit card, but it was simple enough to trace. I don't think they were trying to hide anything." Dale dug through his jacket pockets for a moment, then shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "What do you want me to do with the information?"

"I need to think about this." Harry patted his growling stomach without realizing what he was doing. Each time it looked like they were making real headway, another wrench was thrown into the works. "Before I forget," he added, "I spoke to John Grady a few minutes ago, and he dug up some history on Thorson. Nothing that ties him into Greene or Cartwright yet, but Thorson definitely hired out to the highest bidder."

"I figured as much."

"We're getting closer," Harry said, trying to sound positive as he returned to his chair. All they needed now was time - time to connect the dots that would undoubtedly clear Chris and prove Joey's involvement.

"Can you spare another minute, Harry?"

Harry glanced up. Dale Murphy rarely called anyone by their first name. The man was looking worried - another rare occurrence.

"There's something that's been bothering me," Murphy continued.

"Take a seat," Harry urged. "What's up?"

Sitting on the edge of a chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, the gravely-voiced, gray-haired detective wasted no time in speaking his mind. "I know that Jack Carter talked to MacNeill about Lorenzo."

"Derek mentioned as much. Your partner seems to think Chris is guilty of murder. Any idea why he feels that way?"

Murphy shrugged and leaned back. "You and I have been working the streets for a long time, Harry. Palm Beach can't compete with New York City for excitement, but we get our fair share of trouble. I've seen it change people, alter their ability to make the right decisions."

"I don't follow."

"Carter is acting strange. He's on edge, jumpy. The shit has hit the fan, and something tells me Carter has had a hand in it."

Harry didn't like where this was going. "You got proof of this?"

"I've been working side-by-side with the man for nearly six years, and he's been complaining about not making enough money since day one. If someone got to him, that's probably how they did it."

"Are you saying the complaints have stopped?" Harry's expression was strained as he leaned forward. Jack Carter was a good detective despite the huge chip that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his shoulder. He was a hard-working, trusted member of the homicide department.

After a heavy pause, Dale Murphy answered in a regret-filled voice, "Not a grumble in over two weeks, but it's more than that. There's a look in his eyes that wasn't there before the Smith murder."

Harry exhaled slowly. "You think this ties into Lorenzo somehow?"

"I didn't make the connection until we traced the weapon found at the scene this morning. Jack and I were backup for Lorenzo on that bust two weeks ago. We were at the suspect's home for at least an hour after he was carted away."

"Was Jack ever alone in the house? Did he have access to the gun in question?"

"I don't know, Harry." Dale Murphy stood up. "I'm not a baby-sitter. I don't hold Carter's hand on the job and he doesn't hold mine. Theories, I got. Proof, I don't."

"I'll have to contact MacNeill."

Murphy nodded and headed for the door just as Harry's phone started ringing. "I've never betrayed a partner's trust before, Captain. It's a god-dammed awful feeling."

Harry nodded in grim understanding as he picked up the receiver. It was the switchboard.

"Mayor on line one, Captain Lipschitz. Your wife on line two."

No real contest there.

"Frannie?"

"Hesch, I've got news about Rita."

Frannie's emotional outburst ended as suddenly as it began, and he didn't know whether to feel happy or scared. He needed more information. "What, Frannie? What's going on?"

"Captain, it's Lance."

A huge, invisible weight was immediately lifted from Harry's shoulders. Damn, it was good to hear her voice. "How are you, Rita? What did the doctor say?"

"I'll be okay, Cap. Where is Chris?"

Lance and Lorenzo: two peas in a pod, two halves of the same whole, and he felt mighty protective of both. "He's with George right now. They're following up a lead."

"George?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "Donovan is risking life and limb to do a little fieldwork."

"Frannie tells me IA is involved."

"Until an hour ago you were the only witness, other than Chris, to our look-a-like's existence. Derek has a bunch of cockamamie theories, but now that you're awake, we'll be able to sort through a few of them. Did Chris ever mention receiving a note from Thorson?"

"Who is Thorson?"

"The suspect you were trying to handcuff. A note was found from this guy when IA searched Chris' apartment. Derek is trying to use the note to connect Chris to Thorson's shooting. The gun used belongs to a suspect you two arrested a few weeks ago."

"Somebody has a pretty good set-up going."

"That's what I told McNeill, but I'm not sure he bought it. He wants to bring Chris in for questioning, which is why we need to find out as much as we can about this second suspect before morning. Cotton is waiting for me downstairs right now. If he can ID Thorson, we'll know we're on the right track."

"Cotton? You're losing me, Cap."

Harry could hear the exhaustion in Rita's voice. He felt guilty laying so much on her all at once. "We're on top of it, Rita. You rest up, and I promise to keep you updated."

"No way, Cap; I'm on my way over to Donovan's."

"You must be crazy if you think I'd allow that! Stay right where you are, Lance. That's an order."

"I'm fine, Cap. I've been poked, and tested, and lectured. I'll be careful."

"Rita, you don't understand. Chris and Donovan are probably on their way to talk to Greene right now. If he's behind all this like we suspect, he might slip up and tell them something he'd never tell me. In the meantime, John's working in New York to tie both our dead bodies to Greene and Murphy has come up with some new information that could blow this case wide open. Your job is to stay in bed and let your body heal."

The phone in Rita's room started ringing.

"Rita?" He tried to get her attention but knew she was gone when he heard her answer the other phone.

"It's Fran again, Hesch. Rita grabbed the other phone. We're hoping it's Chris. I've been calling him for the last ten minutes, but haven't been able to reach him."

He could hear Rita's voice in the background. Whoever she was talking to, it certainly wasn't her partner.

"Just don't hang up, Frannie," he instructed. "Is Officer Perkins still there?"

"He's right outside the door. Don't worry about anything on this end. We'll have him follow us to George's place."

"I forbid you to get involved in this, Frannie."

"I'll call you back, Hesch."

"Frannie! No!" But it was too late. His wife had disconnected the call. His delicate, fragile, wife who belonged far, far away from the Joey Greene's of the world. Line one continued to flash impatiently. It was time to explain a few things to Joey's new friend - the mayor.

….

**Rita sat on the side of the bed,** waiting for the caller to speak. Answering the phone with a hopeful "Chris?" hadn't been the most professional thing to do, but she wasn't feeling all that professional at the moment, anyway. The long pause assured her it was not her partner on the other end of the line. She tried a less personal greeting. "Hello?"

"Sleeping Beauty awakens." The voice was low and smoothly accented. "This is excellent news. Talking to your partner would have been a disappointment for everyone involved."

"Who is this?"

"I have important information for you, _Bella_, straight from the horse's mouth. Or should I say the Wolf's?"

"Vincent Adesso?"

"_Si_. Our paths cross once again, Sergeant Lance.

Her reaction time was slowed by fatigue; she could not think of a thing to say in response.

Vincent didn't seem to notice. "I speak to you today as Anthony Cartwright's godfather. He is the son of Victor and Adele, who was my only sister."

Victor Cartwright, the man Joseph Greene had been prepared to testify against, had a son? She did not recall the Captain mentioning a son. "Is Anthony somehow involved with Joseph Greene?"

"Bah! In many ways, Anthony is much smarter than either I or his late father. He does not involve himself in vendettas, choosing instead to leave the past in the past. But my memory is not so short. When I found out that Greene was headed for Palm Beach, I did a little research. I also sent two associates to keep an eye on the situation."

John Smith - one of them had to be Smith. "One of your employees was following me," she accused, trying to mentally sort through the events of the last few days. The nurse had re-entered the room. Rita automatically downed the two little white pills that were held out to her.

"His instructions were to observe and protect you," Vincent corrected.

"Where exactly are you calling from, Mr. Adesso?"

"That is a question I cannot answer."

Rita glanced over at Fran. "Why should I believe anything you tell me?"

"To believe, or not to believe, is a decision you will have to make for yourself. What I can tell you is that although Peppino and I are currently visiting relatives out of the country, I try to stay abreast of what is happening to my loved ones."

Vincent obviously planned to tell the tale in his own way. There was nothing she could do but try and keep up. "I'm not one of your loved ones, sir."

"No, you are not, Sergeant Lance, but I hope you will consider it your good fortune that we currently share a common interest - making sure Joseph Greene pays for his actions."

Rita picked up a pad of paper and a pen from the table next to the bed.

"According to Anthony," Vincent continued, "there was bad blood between Victor and Joey dating back to an incident that took place a year before Victor's arrest. It is quite possible that Joey was working with the FBI long before he turned on Victor."

"But Victor is dead now. Why go after Captain Lipschitz? Why doesn't he just disappear and enjoy his freedom?"

"Why does any man choose the path he chooses? I cannot answer your question other than to speculate that your captain's involvement complicated the Cartwright case. Joey never expected to be in custody for six years. I know the way this man thinks. He will try to destroy your captain by first hurting those around him. The more complicated the revenge, the happier Joseph will be. I have said too much already. Be careful out there, Sergeant. Greene is on borrowed time. Stay out of the line of fire."

"Before you hang up, can you tell me who shot Thorson?"

"Joseph has gotten creative in his old age. With all the talent he had to choose from in New York, he chose a man who, with a little cosmetic help, resembles your partner. If he hadn't ordered the death of one of my men, I might be impressed."

"I need his name, Mr. Adesso. It is imperative that we find him as soon as possible."

"Ramon Del La Torre. According to my sources, Greene is keeping him close, purposely flaunting his secrets right under your captain's nose." Vincent went on to give her Greene's Palm Beach address.

One aspect of Vincent's involvement still bothered Rita. "I don't understand why one of your men was following me. Why would you care what happens to me?"

"As I tried to explain, _Cara,_ my original intent was to keep an eye on Greene for my own purposes. When the time was right, I planned on paying him a personal visit. Sergio, the dead man known to you as John Smith, spent two weeks following the pig around. It became obvious to me that Greene's plans included both you and Sergeant Lorenzo. You ask why I care? I have not forgotten what you and your partner did to save my son, Sergeant Lance. He was nearly lost to me. I always repay my debts."

Rita heard a child's voice in the background.

"I must go now. A fax regarding Sergio will be sent to your precinct. His family will want to escort his body home."

"Certainly. I'll make sure the information ends up in the proper hands." Before she could thank him or say anything more, the call was disconnected. She turned to Fran. "We have to go. Now."

Frannie was right behind Rita as she opened the door. "Shouldn't we wait for a wheelchair? I don't think you're officially discharged yet."

Office Perkins was a few yards away speaking into the two-way radio pinned to his uniform front. Rita held a finger to her lips and pulled Frannie back into the room, waiting for the door to close before explaining. "I need to get to the Greene residence, Fran."

"I have no intention of letting you leave this hospital without me." Frannie was five-feet-plus of indignant female.

"You have to stay here, Fran. The Captain would kill me if I let you get involved, and I wouldn't blame him." Rita searched for her purse, sighing in relief when she found it on the top shelf of the closet. Her cell phone and shield were inside the small handbag, but her gun, unfortunately, was not. She felt extremely vulnerable without it.

Returning to the door, she peeked outside one more time. Perkins was still standing in the same place, not too far from the second-floor nurse's station. The door to the stairs was in the opposite direction. She felt Frannie bump into her from behind. "Give me your car keys, Fran. As soon as I get clear, I'll call the Captain and explain."

"Get moving, doll," Frannie ordered, sounding more like a pint-sized Mafiosa than a housewife. "Either I drive or you hop back into that hospital bed."

"Frannie..."

"Didn't you just tell me that Harry was in trouble? Get moving or give me Greene's address and get out of my way."

Rita studied her companion's expression for a moment. Fran did not appear to be bluffing. "You can drive, but only if you promise to follow my exact instructions once we get to Greene's house." As soon as the captain's wife nodded her agreement, Rita threw caution to the wind and dashed across the hospital corridor. She pushed on the stairwell door and held it open for Fran, who was right behind her. Leading the way downstairs to the parking lot, Rita prayed she wasn't making a huge mistake by allowing Frannie to accompany her. Not that Frannie was giving her much choice.

….

**"Run that by me one more time, George."** Harry Lipschitz gritted his teeth and swore under his breath.

"I lost contact with Chris about thirty minutes ago."

"Where the hell are you?" Harry asked with a growing sense of anxiety.

"I'm parked two houses up from Greene's place. Chris was supposed to climb over the back wall and contact me once he made it inside, but I haven't heard from him yet."

"You're supposed to be questioning Joey." Harry's sedan rounded another corner, tires squealing. "Why isn't he using the front door?"

"We tried doing things the right way, Harry, but we couldn't get past the butler. He says Joey is indisposed and hasn't been out of the house all day. If Chris can get inside, he might be able to come up with a name for our second suspect. Proof of a connection to Thorson would nice, also."

"Evidence doesn't do us any good if it's inadmissible in court, George. I've been trying to reach Chris by phone since I left the precinct. Why isn't he answering?"

"I don't know. He has his cell with him." George leaned forward to peer through the windshield of his car. A silver, four-door sedan had turned off the street and was traveling slowly up the long circular driveway to Joseph Greene's home. The brake lights flashed as the car approached the first curve.

"Do you know if Rita contacted Chris before he went in?"

"Rita's awake?" George sighed in relief. "Thank God."

"He doesn't know?"

"I don't think so. Hang on a minute."

The driver of the silver sedan sped up again, rounding Greene's driveway without stopping at the front door. George's eyes widened in disbelief as the car returned to the street and made a right turn, passing within just a few feet of him. There was no mistaking the identity of the diminutive driver.

"We have another problem, Harry."

….

**Chris moved silently through Joseph Greene's garage**, cursing himself for having dropped his cell phone as he scaled the back wall of the property. His lifeline to the hospital - and Rita - had slipped out of his jacket pocket, landing in an overgrown hibiscus bush as he straddled the ten-foot-high stucco-covered wall.

After scaling the wall, breaking into the garage had been child's play. Detached from the elegant two-story house, it was situated at the rear of the lot. It was empty at the moment, except for a few packing boxes. Chris' goal was to somehow work his way from the garage to the main house without being detected. George, who was completely against the plan, was parked up the street, handling surveillance of the front door. It was a moot point - without a cell phone, George would not be able to contact him, and vice versa.

Chris moved closer to the large roll-up doors. A row of decorative windows ran across the top, allowing him a clear view of two vehicles parked near a side-door entrance to the house. The vehicle closest to the garage was a late-model black Jaguar. The other, a dark green SUV. The rear of the house could also be seen. Two sets of French doors bordered an elaborate patio setup, but those doors appeared shut tight at the moment. Whichever way he decided to go in, he would probably have to wait until dark.

A sound from the driveway drew Chris' attention. The sun had started its slow descent in the west, creating long shadows and deep corners both inside and outside the empty garage. Unable to identify the threat, he moved away from the window and took cover behind a large box. After entering the garage through the side door, he had forgotten to lock it and could now see the door handle turning. Crouching down, he drew his weapon and waited in silence.

….

**"Captain Lipschitz?** Derek, here. Murphy's hunch paid off. I just finished up at Jack Curtis's house. He admits to stealing, then selling, the weapon that killed Smith."

"Damn." Harry shook his head as he listened. If Curtis was so unhappy with the job, or so desperate for money, why didn't he seek help through the proper channels? "Can we tie the payoff directly to Greene?"

"Not yet, but I'll be handling Jack's interrogation once we get to the station. He claims to not know who bankrolled the $10,000 he received from Thorson; swears he didn't know his actions would result in another officer being framed. They supposedly blackmailed him into planting the note in Chris' apartment. I'm not sure how much of his story I buy, but he did admit to a meeting with Thorson and an accomplice whose description should clear Chris."

"Good work, O'Neill." Harry sped through the streets of Palm Beach. "We know Thorson was hired muscle out of New York, working for anyone willing to pay his price. I'm on my way over to see Greene right now, and I'm betting we'll be able to connect those two together soon."

As soon as the call from Derek ended, Harry dialed his wife's cell phone number. "Frannie," he shouted, as soon as he heard her pick up, "what have you been up to? And don't even think about lying to me because I have an eye witness."

"Now, Hesch, don't go getting yourself all upset."

….

**Chris remained in the shadows**; his eyes trained on the side door of the garage as it opened just wide enough to allow a slender figure to slip inside. He blinked twice, not quite sure whether to believe what he was seeing. "Sam?"

A split second later she was in his arms.

"How did you..?" He hugged her fiercely. "Are you okay?" Stepping back, cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her before she had a chance to answer.

He felt her hands glide up his arms before they wound around his neck. No other woman had ever touched his soul the way she did. Brushing his lips over hers as they stood in the middle of Joseph Greene's garage, he took comfort in the strength of her response. She would be fine - she had to be. "Why didn't you call me?" he murmured, as soon as they broke apart.

"Frannie tried. I tried. We couldn't get through."

He pulled her with him into a dark corner and kissed her again, sinking his fingers into her hair. You shouldn't be here," he groaned.

The desire in Rita's eyes was laced with concern. "I know where I belong, Chris, and that happens to be right here watching your back."

Chris shook his head, realizing how pointless it would be to argue with her. "Where's Fran?"

"Don't worry about Frannie. She's on her way to the shop. What's our big plan?"

He had almost lost her, and she was talking about plans. His hands tightened around her waist, keeping her body flush against his. His fingers pressed against warm skin, and he suddenly realized her shirt was missing. She had come straight from the hospital. "I plan on slipping into the main house as soon as the sun sets," he informed her. "You are going to stay right here until I return."

Green eyes glittered with mischief. "Black bag job? I can't wait."

Chris frowned. Was she purposely misunderstanding him? "I'm going in alone," he repeated sternly.

"The man we're looking for goes by the name of Ramon Del La Torre. He could be inside the house right now."

"Which is exactly why you should stay here."

The sound of an engine startled them both into silence. Chris peered through a garage door window. A car was entering the driveway from the street, rounding the curve towards the front of the house instead of proceeding straight on the side road that led to the garage.

"Captain Lipschitz just showed up," he informed Rita. "Do you have your phone on you?"

"Yes, right here."

"Call George. Maybe he knows what Cap is up to."

Rita dialed George Donovan's number and proceeded to have a short, but a very informative conversation with the Assistant District Attorney.

"John connected Thorson to New York, and Cotton has identified him as one of the men from Dream Girls."

Chris turned to her. "Which means Cotton can identify Del La Torre and connect him to Thorson and Smith. You never did mention how you found out about Del La Torre?"

"Long story. I'll explain later."

Rita sounded exhausted. He searched her features for any sign of pain. "I assume he's the one who looks like me?"

"So they say." She was standing on tiptoe, trying to see out the window. "Let's get out of here while Cap distracts them."

"Not so fast."

"Christopher, we're jeopardizing the case against Greene by being here."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand that, Sam. But now that Cap has shown up, I don't think we should go too far. You know how he gets when it comes to this guy. Let's check out the rear of the house." Rita followed him to the side door. Before stepping outside, he removed the small gun strapped to his ankle and handed it to her. "Take this."

"Thanks." Rita smiled as she palmed the weapon.

"And before I forget," Chris reached into his pocket. "I have something that belongs to you."

Taking hold of her left hand, he brought it up to his lips before returning her engagement ring to where it belonged. "Stay close," he murmured, stepping out into the fading daylight.

….

**"Tell your employer I insist on speaking to him." **

"I'm sorry, sir," the fastidious butler repeated in a dry monotone, "Mr. Greene is indisposed at the moment."

"This is a police matter, Bucko, and unless you want to be servicing masters by the name of 'Bubba' in the near future, you'll quit obstructing justice and tell your employer Captain Harry Lipschitz of the Palm Beach PD is here to see him."

Harry's threat drew an immediate response. "Mr. Greene is not in residence. He departed by taxi a few hours ago."

"Where was he headed?"

Straightening his shoulders, and regaining a little of his snobbish attitude, the butler replied with a haughty, "He didn't say."

"Any guesses?"

"No."

A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Harry eyed the manservant suspiciously. "Who else is here?"

"The cook."

"And?"

"Maybe a maid."

"I'd like a tour of the place."

"Unless you have a warrant…"

"I can get one." Harry pulled out his cell phone. "Or you could invite me in of your own free will. In which case, I might not look too closely into your involvement in this matter. By the way, spell out your name for me. I'll need it for my official report."

After studying Harry's expression for a few seconds, the butler backed up into the tiled hallway. "Right this way."

'Lurch' was cooperating at last. Harry followed his reluctant host through the ground floor of the large home. The living room, dining room, and library were empty, but the kitchen was not. An unidentified male was departing by way of the back door.

"Hold it there, Buddy!" Harry rushed past the butler, but the man was heading for the dark green SUV parked in the driveway. Harry drew his weapon as he shouted, "Palm Beach PD. Step away from the vehicle."

Harry's instructions were ignored. He took aim but was saved from having to fire, when Chris appeared out of the shadows and grabbed the suspect by the shoulders, forcing the surprised man down to the ground.

"I got you this time," Chris muttered, using his body weight to prevent any attempt at escape. "Ramon Del la Torre, you are under arrest for the murder of John Smith." As soon as the suspect was handcuffed, Chris yanked him back on to his feet and turned to the Captain. Rita crossed the driveway to join the party.

"You recognize this guy?" Harry smiled as he asked spoke. It was good to see the dynamic duo together again.

"You betcha," Chris responded, holding his prize by the scruff of the neck.

"You'll never make this stick!" Ramon Del La Torre spat out.

Rita tilted her head to one side. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say you look a lot like a guy who took a shot at me earlier today. What's the penalty for trying to kill a cop these days?"

"If I had been trying to kill a cop, lady, you'd be dead."

"Read him his rights," Harry snapped. He returned to the house as Rita did the honors. His stiff-necked guide had been waiting impatiently in the kitchen. After a quick walk-through of the remaining rooms, Harry returned to the driveway. George had joined the group, and Del La Torre was sitting in sullen silence on the ground, his arms still handcuffed behind his back. It was uncanny how much the man looked like Chris, although on closer inspection, there were more differences than similarities. What other surprises did Joey have up his sleeve?

"A unit will be here in five to pick him up," Chris informed his boss. The Captain had been reassuringly calm so far. But then again, Greene was nowhere to be found. "Once we get back to the station, maybe Ramon will change his mind about talking to us."

"Check this out, Cap." Rita indicated a small pile of weapons that had been placed on the hood of the black Jaguar. Frisking their suspect had resulted in the confiscation of two handguns, a silencer, and a six-inch switchblade. "Do you think he has permits for any of these?"

Hands placed on his hips, Harry stared at the man on the ground. "Carrying a concealed weapon is the least of this guy's worries."

"You've got nothing on me," Del la Torre hissed. "I'll be out on bail in less than twenty-four hours."

"I don't think so," George chimed in. "Not with eyewitnesses who can place you at the scene of two separate murders."

"Besides," Rita added. "You might live longer if you're locked up. I say 'might' because you just never know who your cellmate could be connected to these days."

The suspect looked unsure of himself for the first time. "What are you talking about?"

Rita had filled Chris in on Vincent's phone call. He decided to play along. "Killing John Smith earned you one powerful enemy, my friend." Bending down, he whispered, "Who do you think gave us your name and told us where to find you?"

"Let me tell him, Chris. I want to see the look on his face when I mention Vincent Adesso's name."

Ramon Del la Torre whipped his head around to stare at Rita. "You lie," he accused with frightened eyes.

"Victor Cartwright was his brother-in-law. The first man you shot had been sent to Palm Beach by Mr. Adesso. I guess you didn't catch the tattoo on his arm. He was here to track Joey's movements."

"No!"

"Greene set you up," Harry stated bluntly. "You go down for the murders of Smith and Thorson while he continues to live the comfortable life of a free and prosperous man. Consider yourself lucky. Thorson's sacrifice was more costly. If you manage to avoid the death penalty, you'll be in prison for the rest of your life, but at least you'll be alive."

A patrol car entered the driveway, dramatically lighting the small drama playing out in Joey Greene's driveway.

"Get him out of my sight," Harry ordered.

"Wait!" Ramon struggled with the uniformed officers escorting him to their car. "I want a deal."

"Don't even think about it, Harry," George said. "We've got him solid on two murder raps."

Chris had seen the wink George threw in the Captain's direction, but the suspect hadn't.

"I can give you Greene," Ramon shouted as he was forcibly guided into the back seat of the patrol car. "I ain't going down for that nut job. You keep Adesso away from me, and I'll talk."

"You may be asking the impossible," Harry responded. "Rita?"

"I don't know, Cap. I'm not exactly friends with Adesso."

Chris walked over to the patrol car and leaned on the open rear door. "Where is Greene right now?"

"I want assurances," was all Ramon would say.

"If Adesso finds Greene before we do, your bargaining chip is gone."

Ramon swore under his breath. "Palm Beach PD. He said something about meeting up with the wife of an old friend."

"Frannie!" Harry's reaction was immediate. He took off running in the direction of his car.

"I'm with Cap," Chris shouted to Rita.

Rita grabbed hold of George. "Let's get moving, George. I need you to drive."

….

**Chris kept one hand braced on the dashboard** as the Captain's car sped into the two-story parking structure attached to the PBPD. Phone calls placed while on route to the station had confirmed their worst fears. Frannie was nowhere to be found inside the building, and she was no longer answering her cell phone.

"Do you see her?" Harry asked, slowing down as he drove through aisle after aisle of parked cars. "If he touches one hair on her head…"

It wasn't until they reached the uppermost level, that they spotted Frannie's silver sedan. It was parked against the far wall, under a light pole sporting a broken fixture.

"That's Frannie behind the wheel," Chris stated quietly, knowing it was not necessary to point out the shadowy figure sitting next to her. He scanned the deserted rooftop. No more than a half dozen cars were parked on this level, giving Joey a clear view of any approaching vehicles. He waited for the Captain to suggest a course of action.

"He shot out the security camera," Harry growled, stopping the car approximately fifty feet from his wife. "Let me handle this."

"Dammit, Cap, we've been through this before!"

"Chris…"

"Why can't you trust me?"

"I trust you with my life," Harry countered, keeping his eyes trained on the front seat of Frannie's car. "Don't ever think otherwise."

"And I trust you with mine," Chris immediately responded.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, kid." Harry fell silent as Joseph Greene emerged from the car and walked around to the driver's side, a gun clearly visible in his hand as he opened the door for Frannie. She followed her captor's directions, stepping out of the car to stand in front of him. His wife was being used as a human shield. "This is my fault," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Fran is fine for the moment," Chris pointed out. "Greene won't do anything out in the open like this."

"You don't know him the way I do."

"Gentlemen," Joey called out across the concrete lot, "please step out of the car and place your weapons on the ground."

Chris used Harry's phone to call Rita, keeping the small cell phone in his lap so Joey would not be able to see what he was doing. As soon as she picked up, he spoke quietly and clearly. "We found Fran on the upper level. Joey is with her."

"Harry, my patience is wearing thin. Your lovely wife and I have waited long enough for you to join us."

"Take it slow, Cap," Chris whispered, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. The expression on the older man's face was murderous. After a brief moment of unspoken communication, Chris pushed open the passenger door and stepped out of the car. He placed his weapon on the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry do the same.

"Frannie?" Harry called to his wife. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Hesch." Her voice sounded strong, but the strain she was under showed in the way her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

"Your wife and I have had a very pleasant visit," Joey said as he slowly closed the distance between them. He stopped when they were a car's length away. "How is your partner doing, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Eyes narrowed in anger; Chris remained silent.

"Have you ever wondered why so many of the people around Harry end up getting hurt?" Joey asked. His right hand rested on Frannie's shoulder with the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against the side of her head.

"Cut to the chase," Harry demanded. "You're standing in the middle of a police station parking lot with my wife as your hostage. What are you trying to prove?"

Joey laughed and guided Fran a step closer. "I don't have to prove anything anymore. It is you who will be burdened by proof in the future.

Chris sensed a movement along the far wall, back in the direction of Frannie's car. Someone had used the outside stairway to reach the third level. "I don't understand something," Chris stated loudly, determined to keep Joey's attention away from whatever was going on behind him.

"Chris…"

"Let the boy talk, Harry. What are you so afraid of?" Joey tightened a hand around Frannie's arm, enjoying the immediate reaction on her husband's face. "What can I explain for you, Sergeant Lorenzo?"

"You say the Captain is responsible for hurting a lot of people, but from what I can tell, you certainly weren't one of them. You're living in a mansion located in one of the most amazing cities in the world. What do you have to complain about?"

"Youth!" Joey responded with a disgusted shake of his head. "It's wasted on the young. Don't you agree, Cherie?" he added, whispering the comment in Frannie's ear.

Chris moved closer to the Captain, ready to restrain him if necessary. They had to allow their rescue party as much time as possible.

"Give me a break," Frannie shot back. It was all Chris could do to stop a smile from sneaking out.

Joey was less than amused. "I used to think you were a worthy opponent, Harry Lipschitz, but you've lost the fire. The last six years have made you soft. Maybe it's this city; maybe you're just old."

"And I used to think you had outsmarted me," Harry responded with a look of pity, "but I know better now. You're angry because nobody wants to play your game anymore. We've all moved on with our lives, but you're still stuck on your own sense of importance. Maybe if you had been less self-absorbed, you would have had time to find a woman of your own. Maybe you'd have something better to do than living your life through old hatreds and revenge."

"You owe me, Harry." Joey was clearly annoyed. The gun he held was now aimed at the Captain. "When I'm through with you, you won't ever be able to forget this day."

"We have Del La Torre in custody," Chris threw in, trying to get Joey's focus off the Captain. His efforts were useless. They were like two old dogs ready to square off in battle.

"Del La Torre is a fool. I should have ordered Thorson to kill him instead of the other way around." Joey continued to stare at Harry through narrowed eyes. "I assume he'll be properly punished?"

"Del La Torre shot Thorson on your orders," Harry accused. "He's admitted as much already."

"Good help is hard to find these days," Joey commented philosophically. "I'll have to remember that in the future."

"Spare me the clichés and let go of my wife," Harry ground out as he took a step forward. "This has gone on long enough. You tried to hurt me by framing Chris; it didn't work. Don't you get it? The old days are over. Your petty little mind games don't impress anyone anymore."

"Your self-righteous attitude is just as annoying now as it was back in New York. Your little detectives follow you around like you can do no wrong. But I know better."

"That's it!" Frannie shouted, startling everyone. She shrugged out of Joseph Greene's hold and turned to face him with fire in her eyes. "How dare you talk about Harry that way! You'll never be half the man…"

"Frannie!" Harry rushed to grab Joey's right hand, forcing the gun up and away from his wife.

"Fran!" Chris shouted at the same time, lunging forward to take hold of Frannie Lipschitz and pull her away from Joey just as a shot rang out. He hustled her into Harry's car, retrieving his gun on the way. A second shot was quickly followed by a third. "Keep low," he shouted as she took cover on the floor of the back seat. He turned, intent on helping the Captain, but the Captain was gone and Joseph Greene lay bleeding on the ground, shot twice from behind. "Cap?"

"Harry?" Frannie called out to her husband, sounding scared.

Screeching tires shattered the deadly silence, followed by a flood of headlights as a half-dozen marked and unmarked vehicles joined them on the rooftop.

Chris was frantically searching the area around Frannie's car when Rita caught up to him.

"Who fired?" she asked breathlessly.

"I thought it was you or George." He glanced at the exit to the stairway. The shooter could have easily left the roof by way of the concrete staircase. Rita seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She signaled her intent to cover the left as he moved to the right of the exit. He held up a finger to start a silent three-count.

"One… two…"

"I don't care what Frannie says, I'm having steak tonight."

Chris cautiously leaned over the stairs and called down, "Cap?"

All he could hear was a lot of huffing and puffing.

"You need help, Cap?"

Harry appeared on the second story landing. He glanced up with a grimace and waved a finger at his two detectives. "Protein is important." He continued his ascent without another word.

"Are you hurt?" Rita asked.

"Just my pride. I got outrun by that stuffed-shirt butler of Joey's." As soon as he reached the top, he bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath. "Ten years ago, I would have had him. Where's Frannie?" Harry asked, suddenly serious.

"She's all right," Chris assured him. "She's back at the car."

"Excellent," Harry sighed. He glanced sideways at Rita. "Any idea why Joey's butler would race all the way over here in Joey's Jag just so he could shoot his employer in front of three witnesses?"

"Vincent Adesso admitted to sending two of his men to Palm Beach. We know John Smith was number one; maybe the butler was number two."

"If he does work for the Wolf," Chris said, "we'll have a hell of a time trying to find him."

"I still don't get it," Harry confessed as he started walking back towards the action. "If Adesso's reputation is to be believed, he isn't the type to leave behind witnesses."

"You might call this a gift," Rita informed her boss.

"Or payback," Chris threw in, trying to be helpful.

Harry stopped in his tracks and placed his hands on his hips. "Don't tell me another one of these guys has a crush on you. First, it's roses, then it's a favor. The mobster-with-a-heart-of-gold routine doesn't fly around here."

"It's not like that, Cap," Rita responded defensively.

"You should be in bed." Harry softened as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Turning to Chris, he added, "It's your job to see that she gets there. I'm going to check on my wife."

"Do you think he'd snap my head off if I thanked him for that order?" Chris placed an arm around his fiancée's shoulders.

"Chris," Rita said, her voice filled with impatience, "he thinks Vincent sent those flowers because..."

"Relax, Sam. The Captain barely realizes what he's saying right now, and I know the feeling. Once he has Fran in his arms again, all will be right with the world."

Rita continued to frown as they walked back in the direction of Harry's car. She paused and turned to face Chris. "What do you mean, you know how he feels?"

Oblivious to the noise and commotion just a few feet away, Chris pulled her into his arms. With the side of her face resting on his shoulder, his words whispered through her hair, "All is right with the world, Sam."

Uniformed officers were swarming over the rooftop as Chris and Rita returned to Harry's car. George had helped Fran extricate herself from the back seat and was currently talking to Harry, who had his wife wrapped tightly in his arms. Rita rushed over to check on Fran, but Chris hung back a little, hoping to get a better look at Joey Greene - not an easy thing to do as the crowd surrounding him grew larger. Shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the lower back, he lay on his side, unconscious in an ever-widening pool of blood.

Chris recognized the woman kneeling by Joey's side. She was one of the department's more experienced MEs. Glancing around, he realized just how many of the department's personnel had responded to the sound of shots being fired. The tightening in his chest was impossible to ignore.

Damn. He was getting soft - just like George. He shot a glance in Rita's direction. Her face was caught in the glow from an overhead streetlight. She was smiling as she hugged Frannie Lipschitz, her green eyes alight with the caring and compassion she constantly showed to others. Nothing wrong with being a little soft, he decided.

"Chris."

Finding the Captain at his side was a surprise. "Hey, Cap. Joey doesn't look too good right now."

"An ambulance is on the way."

"I figured as much." Chris shoved his hands into his pockets. "About that black bag job."

"Forget about it."

"Forget about it?" He glanced at his boss with raised eyebrows. Maybe there was some truth in all that nonsense about aliens. "Who are you, and what have you done with my captain?" he couldn't resist asking.

Harry frowned. "Look, Chris, I gotta say this before we go back inside and things get crazy. What you did tonight…"

Chris waved away the words. "Please, Cap, you don't have to say anything."

Harry set a hand on Chris' shoulder and forced him to meet his eyes. "Thank you for saving Frannie's life. You pulled her out of the line of fire."

"Cap, I…"

"Don't argue with me. I just want you to know how much what you did means to me."

Chris nodded, not quite sure what to say in response.

"Looking back over the last few days, I realize that I should have told you about Joey a long time ago." The Captain was looking unusually miserable, considering the outcome. "I guess I was afraid of losing your respect - and Rita's."

"You've always had our respect, Cap. That will never change."

"I'm not perfect, you know."

"Never assumed you were."

"There's something else I feel I should say."

Chris rocked on his heels, wondering what was coming next. "What is it?"

"You and Rita…"

"Yeah?"

"You both mean a lot to us - Fran and me. I know things didn't start off that way, but over the years it's like you've become, well, you know. "

Chris grinned. "Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Sure. We feel the same way."

Harry nodded in understanding. "I'm glad we had this talk."

Chris grinned. "Me too."

"We'd better get started on the paperwork."

Now that was a thought capable of wiping the smile right off Chris' face.

"I don't suppose we could leave that for tomorrow?"

Harry pointed towards an approaching figure. "See that man?"

"Yeah."

"That's the mayor."

"Really?" Chris peered closer. "I think he's gained a little weight since the last time I saw him."

Harry ignored the comment. "And behind him is the Police Commissioner. Joey had been in contact with both, trying to stir up trouble. They're going to want answers."

"Ugh," Chris groaned at the thought of spending most of the night behind his desk. "And here I was thinking I'd be able to follow orders and take Rita to bed."

"I don't think I worded it quite that way," Harry laughed, "but if you give me an hour now, you can come in late tomorrow to finish up."

One hour writing preliminary reports, and the pay off was a long night in the arms of the woman he loved. It was an offer he couldn't refuse. Chris turned his attention to the paramedics who were putting their equipment away. Joey had been pronounced dead.

….

Chris was standing behind his desk slipping into a dark blue sport coat when the Captain walked out of his office. A lot had happened in the seven days since the shoot-out with Joey Greene in the PBPD parking lot - all of it good. Internal Affairs had been quick to clear Chris of any wrongdoing, Del La Torre had been officially charged with two counts of murder, and Rita had been ordered to take a few days sick leave.

"Hey, Cap," Chris called out, straightening the collar of his coat. "What's with the big smile? You and Frannie have something special planned tonight?"

"Every night in the arms of the right woman is special, kid." Harry approached Chris' desk with a twinkle in his eye.

"Amen to that," Chris agreed with a laugh.

"Guess who I was just talking to on the phone?"

"Who?" Chris perched on the edge of his desk and studied Harry's expression. No doubt about it, the Captain was practically giddy.

"Paul Gardner. You remember me telling you about Paul and Andrea, the two detectives I worked with in New York?"

"Yeah, sure. How are they doing?"

"You'll never believe it. They're d.o.t. c.o.m millionaires."

"D.o.t c.o.m millionaires?" Chris silently mouthed. "What in the world is a d.o.t c.o.m millionaire? I don't get it."

Harry peered over the top of his glasses. "Don't you ever use a computer at home?"

"Sure. I get email, I check the scores."

"Paul and Andrea did a lot more than that after they quit the force. Paul says they wanted to stay partners, so they started up an online private investigation service. The damn thing took off like a rocket, and they've never been happier."

"That's great, Cap."

"I wonder what prompted him to call out of the blue like that?" Harry's voice was a mixture of curiosity and relief.

Chris grinned. With John Grady's help, tracking down the two former NYPD homicide detectives had been easy. His unexpected request that they contact their former boss had been agreed to with enthusiasm and affection.

"What about you, Lorenzo? You have the next few days off, right? What do you and Rita have planned for the long weekend?"

"Rita has a follow-up appointment with Dr. Portman this afternoon. If all goes well, we'll probably head over to Sanibel for a few days."

"Whatever you two do, have fun. And if Rita gets the okay from Portman, tell her I said we need her back here on Monday."

"She'll be thrilled to hear it, Cap. Thanks."

….

**It was just after 5 pm when Chris arrived at Rita's front door.** The lively sounds of Salsa music were interspersed with raised voices, both male and female. He let himself in, then froze.

"Christopher!"

"Mother?"

"Close the door, Chris," Rita called out from the kitchen. "We don't want the neighbors complaining." His fiancée entered the living room carrying a wine bottle and several long-stemmed wine glasses. "Did you say hello to everyone?" she asked pointedly as she opened the wine.

"I haven't had a chance. They're still dancing."

Chris couldn't take his eyes off of his mother as she guided homicide detective Dale Murphy through the sensual steps of a Samba. Murphy was mesmerized by the movie star in his arms. Chris recognized the expression; he had seen it on the faces of a hundred different men over the years. They fell for the image immediately, not bothering to take notice of the real woman and all her flaws that lay beneath.

"Here you go," Rita spoke soothingly as she placed a half-filled glass in his hand. Her voice dropped lower, "Get that shocked look off of your face. You're going to make Murphy feel bad."

"But I am shocked." Chris took a long sip then grimaced and stared down into the glass of red wine. "What is this?"

"Your mother brought it from France."

"Figures."

"Be nice."

"Am I in the right apartment?" Chris closed his eyes tight, then opened them again. It didn't help. His mother, dressed in a white, form-fitting, designer dress was shimmying around the living room floor with the eternally rumpled, never-anything-but-grouchy Detective Dale Murphy. "What is going on here?"

Rita led him over to the table, away from the dancing couple and their laughter. "Murphy stopped by to see how I was doing, your mother happened to be here, and before we knew it, we were talking about dancing."

"Before you knew it? Since when does Dale Murphy discuss dancing? And why was my mother here in the first place?"

Rita picked up a sheet of paper from the table and eyed him suspiciously. "She was here to drop off the list she promised you."

"Oh." The current song ended, and his mother rushed over, saving him from having to reply.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Darling," Anna murmured, framing his face in her hands and kissing his cheek. She accepted a glass of wine from Rita. "I'd like to make a toast," she announced.

Chris groaned inwardly and cast a quick glance at Dale Murphy - poor guy. His mother should come with a warning label tattooed onto her perfect, porcelain-skinned forehead.

"To weddings," Anna was saying, showering an adoring smile on her son and his future wife.

"To weddings," Dale Murphy repeated.

Rita lifted her glass of iced tea. Her eyes were filled with laughter when they met his, and he suddenly realized that she was enjoying herself.

"Let's get out of here," he urged, whispering into her ear.

"We can't just leave."

"Look at them," he insisted, "they'll never know we're gone."

Anna was once again deep in conversation with Murphy. What those two had in common Chris couldn't begin to guess, but they looked happy enough, and he wanted his fiancée all to himself. "What did Dr. Portman say this afternoon?" he asked.

"He signed my release."

"Thank you, Dr. Portman." After a week of worrying and watching for any signs of residual pain Rita might be experiencing, it was a huge relief to hear she was given a clean bill of health.

Rita leaned into him to whisper, "Does this mean your self-imposed moratorium on lovemaking is now over?"

Chris slipped an arm around her waist and glanced down at the neckline of her dress. He had been so thrown by her unexpected guests, he hadn't noticed the new red dress she was wearing. It was fairly modest from this angle. The scoop neck and long sleeves didn't reveal much, but as his hand slid over her hips, he realized just how figure-hugging the spectacular little creation was. Every little dip and curve was emphasized. He leaned backward for a good look at her legs. The hem-line was damn near illegal.

**...**

**"Well?" Rita was grinning.** The hand on her hips tightened.

"Let's go into the kitchen, and I'll give you my answer." Chris' voice was gruff, the look in his gorgeous blue eyes - passionate and hungry.

"Down, boy," she murmured, her gaze narrowing as she returned the look.

"Chris?"

"Yes, Mother?" His eyes never left Rita's as he answered.

"Dale and I are going out for a drink."

That got his attention.

"You don't mind, do you, Lorenzo?" Murphy was actually looking a little nervous.

"No. You two have fun." Chris managed a smile as he removed his hand from Rita's back, and held it out to Dale Murphy. "I've been meaning to thank you for all your help on the Greene case. I'm sorry about Curtis."

"Don't be. He made his bed, now he has to face the consequences. You take care of her," he grumbled, pointing at Rita.

Rita smiled, remembering Murphy's earlier expression when she had answered her door and greeted him with an affectionate hug. Once the shock wore off, convincing him to stay a while had been easy. The fact that he and Anna appeared to hit it off, did not surprise her.

"Rita," Anna said, stepping forward to give her a quick squeeze. "I'll call you on Monday. We can talk about the list, maybe check out a few reception halls."

"Leave 'em be, Annie," Dale interrupted, taking Anna by the hand, "Neither one is an idiot. If they need your help, they'll ask for it."

Surprisingly, Anna laughed and squeezed Murphy's arm. "You're right. Sorry, Kids. I've got a suite at the Hilton this trip. I'd love to hear from you, Rita."

They talked for a few minutes longer. The older couple seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

The minute the door closed behind them, Chris walked over to the stereo and turned down the volume.

Rita swallowed her disappointment. She had hoped for a more romantic response to their finally being alone. For all his bravado talk about seducing her, Chris had spent the last week treating her as if she were fragile - as if she might break. Now that the headaches and nausea were gone, she wanted to resume her life and her relationship with the man she loved.

"I couldn't wait to leave work tonight," Chris said, head bent down as he sorted through a stack of CDs.

Rita crossed the room, not sure if she had heard him correctly. "Anxious for a few vacation days?"

Chris removed the Salsa CD and slipped a new one in before turning to meet her stare. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. "Anxious for you," he finally responded in a husky voice. He touched a finger to her lips, tracing their outline.

Rita shivered as his mouth moved closer to her throat. She recognized the soulful voice and mellow sounds that filled the apartment. Nothing like a little Tony Bennett at sunset to soothe the soul and deepen the intimacy of the moment.

"It's been a long week," Chris murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive area behind her ear. "I missed you at work."

"Want to know what I missed?" She ran her hands through his hair and brought his mouth to hers before he could answer. The kiss she had been anticipating ever since his return home started off slow as if Chris were still being careful about hurting her, but as her tongue slid past his lips, she felt a little of his control slip.

"Dance with me," he murmured when they finally broke for air. His left arm encircled her waist and he pulled her closer, swaying gently with his face buried against the side of her neck.

Rita tipped her head back, allowing him better access to her throat. He released her hand and slid an open palm down her side to the swell of her hip. She felt his arousal brush across her lower stomach.

"We could leave for Sanibel first thing in the morning," Rita suggested as they continued to move in time to the music.

Chris had both hands under her dress, gliding over her legs, toying with the tops of her thigh-high silk stockings. "Too tired to travel tonight?" he asked, a sliver of worry back in his eyes.

Rita grinned and brushed her fingers across his lips. "No, but if I can talk you into coming to bed with me now, I can promise you a beautiful sunrise in the morning."

"So basically, you're bribing me to hop in the sack with you.

"Is it working?" She pushed his jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the ground unheeded.

"You'll never have to ask twice, Sam." The words were an exhale of breath across her left cheek.

"That's what I was counting on."

Chris sought out her mouth and kissed her hard. She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it to the side. Chris slipped the red dress over her head as they guided each other toward the bedroom. Rita's shoes landed near the couch. They fumbled past the dining room table until a sheet of white paper caught Chris' eye. Keeping one hand on Rita's bare waist, he reached for his mother's list.

"Don't!"

Chris looked at her with surprise.

"Trust me. You don't want to read that right now." She stared into his eyes, not realizing how thoroughly sexy her damp lips and tousled hair appeared to him at that moment.

"I don't?" Chris pressed a kiss to the base of her throat. "Who could she possibly want to invite?" he asked as his mouth moved lower.

"Do you trust me?" Chris lifted her as if she were weightless. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist; her arms slid around his neck. A damp mouth closed over a lace-covered nipple and she groaned.

"I trust you more than I trust myself," he whispered against her skin, "but I don't trust my mother to make an omelet."

"We'll deal with her tomorrow," she promised as he carried her across the threshold into her room.

Chris just smiled and kicked the bedroom door closed.

THE END

Classic Moments

2000

Might be pointless to keep repeating this, but feedback by PM or Review is greatly appreciated.

...

**Final Thoughts**: Writing 25 stories over a three year period is one thing, but revisiting those stories all at once over a five month period is another and can lead to some interesting questions. For example, based on just my own old stories, I have recently found myself asking -

_Is fresh fruit with toast the only breakfast Rita knows how to prepare?_

_Does anyone ever go back and pick up the jacket/dress/shirt/blouse that falls silently/unheeded/unnoticed to the floor during foreplay?_

_Do women still wear pantyhose? Nylons, I am embarrassingly aware, is a very outdated word!_

_How did we live without smart phones?_

_Is Rita's apartment one story or two? I've written it both ways._

_What is a horizontal version of a roundhouse kick? Is that really a thing?_

_Why is Rita the one always getting a concussion in my stories? Sorry about that, Sergeant Lance._


End file.
